Disadvantages
by Iggymonster
Summary: Clyde's suddenly given up on girls, and is failing his grades. And a certain fatass tutoring him can't add more drama, can it? Main pairing Cartyde, mentions of Creek with some one sided Cryde; title not very related.
1. Trouble

**A/N: I know I have another full length story to work on, but I think this one's more fun. The other one is dark and mysterious and totally out of my comfort zone, but this one I promise will be light hearted and fun. The reason for writing this is because I just wanted to write something totally new, and recently I've come to contact with ClydexCartman. I love that pairing (but I love Kyman a bit more :3 ^_^) so I thought I'd experiment with it a little. It's also written in the present tense (which I hardly ever do and I have little experience on, due to my totally gay school not teaching it) and first person. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it's in character, too!**

_Chapter One - Trouble_

Girls.

I stopped bothering with them a while ago.

I was getting kind of bored with the way they always came up to me, started flirting with me and telling me to call them. I was getting sick and tired of being constantly handed pieces of paper and screwed up notes with their cell phone numbers scrawled on them.

I have no idea how girls work. Nor do I want to know, because it'll confuse me. I get confused easily. And I have the attention span of a gnat.

I'm Clyde Donovan. I'm on a mission, and it's not going to be pretty.

X (o) X –

About six months ago I think I was pretty tired of being known as popular and a guy all the girls wanted. Having that status was fun at first, but after a while it became tedious and I wasn't all too bothered in keeping it.

I don't know what the girls even saw in me. I wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. I was a dumbass. I still think that five times two is twelve, and I have totally managed to convince myself I'm right.

I don't know how, but I did it.

Anyway, I think I better explain a little bit more.

My mission hasn't been made clear yet...but I intend to do that. Sometime. I don't know when. I procrastinate a lot. I think I know what that word means.

See what I mean?

X (o) X –

I was skipping through a forest, all happy with a huge smile on my face, laughing to myself and waving to every bunny I saw. I saw unicorns, all pink and purple. The sky was full of rainbows, and panda bears came out behind bushes and started to dance and laugh with me. Then we rode on ponies whilst eating candy flo-

"Clyde, can you hear me?"

As quick as a wippet (is that a dog, or something?) I shot up, wiping drool from the corner of my mouth. I'd fallen asleep in class _again. _It's a bad habit of mine, I guess. Now there was drool on my sleeve. Attractive.

"Umm..." I mutter absent-mindedly. I wasn't really listening, and the laughter of all the bunny rabbits in my dream kinda drowned Mrs. Roberts out.

I don't like her. She's a bitch.

"I presume you were sleeping in my class again, hmm?" she glances at me, mentally shooting lasers from her eyes. Woah, I just imagined how cool that would be. I mean, like, she could probably kill someone with her epic laser beams. Then she'd get arrested, or something.

"Um," I repeat. I nod a little, and she continued to stare at me.

"Clyde Donovan if I catch you sleeping one more time I will have to send you out," she warns me. Ooh, send me out, huh? Totally hardcore. "Now, can you answer this question?"

She points to the board, and I squint. My mind was lost in a frenzy as I read each and everything written on the board in thick black whiteboard pen. I saw some pluses there, maybe a division sign and a subtraction thingy, but I didn't understand it at all.

"Not really," I reply, a littler quieter than I had hoped for. "It's hard."

She tutts and rolls her eyes, saying nothing. I sighed. I hate being dumb. I need someone to make me smarter, like, to tutor me, or something.

I could get Craig to do that. But we'd probably end up throwing snowballs at each other, for absolutely no reason at all. And then we'd get no studying done, which wouldn't be very helpful for my extremely bad grades.

Or Kenny. He's smart. I think.

She continued with her lesson, and I continued to not listen. I stare down at my desk, drawing imaginary circles using my fingertips, glancing at the clock every few seconds. Time moved by so slowly sometimes. I sighed and went back to resting my head in my hands. I was desperate to fall back asleep, but I resisted the urges.

I try to stay focused, but again, my attention span is almost non existant.

The bell kinda shocks me. I jump a little, because I was so not expecting it. But there was one good thing – maths was my last lesson on a Thursday, and I got to go home after it. Or probably to the park with Craig and those other guys I hang with.

Or I could go home and sleep, and not do my homework, like most days.

"Alright class," Mrs. Roberts says, putting her pen down and rubbing everything off the board. "I will see you all first period tomorrow. I'll give you your test results back then. Class dismissed."

As everyone stood up, I put away my books and the very few pencils and pens I had on me, and just as I had one foot through the door, I heard Mrs. Roberts say my name.

I turn on my heel and faced her. The door slams shut behind me, indicating everyone had now left. Lucky bastards.

And bitches, 'cause there's girls in my class, and they might have found that sexist.

Mrs. Roberts frowns at me. "Your test results were less than average. Did you study for it at all, Clyde?" My mouth hung open as I thought; as I remembered.

After doing as much thinking as Clyde Donovan possibly can, I shake my head. I felt a little guilty for not revising – this test was kinda important and contributed to my final grade – but it's not my fault I suck at practically every lesson I have.

Mrs. Roberts continued to frown at me, her blueish/grey eyes looking down at the desk she was leaning on.

"Do you think that, if you had studied, you would have done better?" she questions me. I look at her quizzically (I love myself for knowing that word) and didn't know what to say.

"I...I don't know."

There was that frown again; those mental bullets shooting from her eyes. Oh wow. First laser beams now bullets? I think she's magical, or my imagination is uber awesome.

"That's the problem with you, Clyde," she sighs, twisting her mouth. "You just don't know. You don't try hard enough, especially not in this class, anyway. Are you failing your other classes, too?"

I start to think again. I think my brain was going to explode by how much thinking I've had to in the past few moments. "Yeah. Kinda. But not in P.E. I'm good at that."

She laughs a little, only quietly and for a short amount of time. "Figures."

I don't know what she meant by that, so I just stare at her a little, and didn't bother to reply. I waited for her to talk to me again.

"I would ask for you to retake the test," she continues. "But that'd be a little harsh on such short notice. So, how would you like our best student in this class to tutor you?"

I cock (hee hee) my head to one side and look at her, that perplexed look again. I thought for a moment (only not as hard this time. I don't like brains, and I don't think mine would look good all over Mrs. Roberts' lovely carpet, all covered in brain juice). A tutor? That sounds pretty bitchin'.

I don't know who the best student is, because the smartest kid I knew isn't in my maths class. In fact, I'm in, like, one of his classes, but I didn't know that until a few days before. How I didn't notice it, I don't know, but it's probably because I'm a little slow on things.

"Who's gonna tutor me?" I find myself asking her.

She smiles a little at me. "Judging by our latest test results, I'm guessing my best student in this class is indeed Eric."

I thought I was going to vomit my heart through my mouth. And I didn't care that it'd get all over Mrs. Roberts' lovely carpet, all covered in heart juice. Ugh.

I am kinda shocked to hear that. I think Eric Cartman's dumber than me, if that's possible. How was he the best student in this class?

"Eric?" I choked. "Eric Cartman?"

I tried to think of another Eric. There is this one kid called Eric in my English class, but he's in a wheelchair. And he's totally freaky, let me tell you.

Then again, so's Cartman.

"Yes," she nods her head. "I do mean Eric Cartman. He got a perfect ninety on this test. God knows how. Maybe he studied extra hard, unlike you, hmm?"

She shot a sweet looking smile at me, and I close my eyes.

Eric Cartman. Tutoring...me? This couldn't have been possible.

I should have probably told, like, a police officer to deem Eric Cartman tutoring me illegal. That'd be pretty cool, too.

"Do you honestly believe Cartman would tutor me?" I ask her.

She giggles slightly, her eyes not making contact with mine. "Probably not, you're right about that. But I will make him or there will be punishments."

Even Eric Cartman could be scared of this bitch. She's scary as hell. Is Hell scary? Probably. Fire burns people, so I don't like fire. This one time, I burned my hand on the oven. I still have a scar from it, and it really, really hurt.

"Oh," I utter under my breath.

She smiles at me once again, before adding: "Go home, do some studying, and maybe get plenty of rest tonight so I don't have to see you sleeping in my lesson. Your tutoring can begin tomorrow. Goodbye, Clyde."

I walk away without a goodbye, but I did wave at her as I left, so that surely must count, right? I think I'm right. But I'm not sure. I don't know.

X (o) X –

"She's getting _Cartman _to tutor _you_?"

I sigh. It was all too weird, for sure. Anyone could agree with me on that one.

Nodding my head, I look at Craig, who was smoking a cigarette.

"But...why?" he ponders, taking one last puff before throwing the butt on the floor, stomping on it.

I shrug. I wasn't in the mood to talk. I wanted to go home and sleep, go back to dance with all those pink pandas and fairies on Pumpkin Forest.

"All I know is that he got almost full marks on that gay test we did," I mutter under my breath.

"Yeah," he agrees. I was surprised he heard me because I had said it kinda quietly. "Probably cheated, though. He's a bigger dumbass than you."

He smirks, and I glare at him. I did agree with him on that one, but I don't like to be called a dumbass by someone I call my friend.

Hold on. Probably cheated? Oh my God. How did I seriously not think of that?

That sounded perfectly like Eric Cartman. He had obviously cheated on this test, for sure.

"Craig!" I shout his name, and he looks a little scared by my sudden enthusiasm. "You're so right! He cheated! Why are you so smart?"

He raises an eyebrow, before laughing: "Because my name isn't Clyde Donovan."

I pout. I immitate him in a mock voice, a voice that isn't even him. It's more like a 'meh meh meh meh meh meh'.

He stares at me, boredom shining through his grey eyes, which are covered by a curtain of ebony coloured hair. "Fuck off, Clyde."

It's my turn to smirk now as I playfully punch him on the arm.

"You know I'm only joking," I just totally stated the obvious there. He knows I'm only joking. I know I'm only joking. Even that kid who's playing on the roundabout near us knows I'm only joking.

He sighs, and nonchalantly says: "I know that, Clyde. I'm not a dumbass."

See?

"Unlike you."

I pout again, like that one time when Stan interupted my paper on how awesome and cool this chick Bebe is. I applaud myself for remembering that.

"Later, dude," I suddenly announce. "I'm not going to sit her and be ridiculed."

He immitates my pout. "Oh, sowwy, Cwyde. I'm onwy joking," he teases.

And even though he's 'onwy joking', I'm getting kinda pissed off.

My lack of sleep is probably to blame.

And that's why I left, to go home, get some sleep, and hopefully wake up refreshed.

**A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm excited to see in which ways this could go down! I thought I'd be bad at writing Clyde, but reading it back, I'm pretty impressed. Clyde and I have that same sorta attention span, so I can kinda write from that sort of view. Also, I hope the present tense was OK, and I hope it was kinda humourous (sp?), even though that's not a goal of mine right now. So, reviews would be appreciated, but please, no flaming. I'm like Clyde – fire scares me :3 I don't mind a little constructive critiscm, but a total hate speech isn't going to make me happy. It'll make me a saaaaad panda.**

**OK, I promise to update a little sooner with this one. I can't wait to write the next chapter, I swear :)**


	2. Don't Know Nothing

**A/N: I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I'm sure this one will be updated way quicker. I haven't given up on my other story, I just want to focus on this for a while, so it's on temporary hiatus. Don't hate me if you like that story. It's alright, I guess. I'm not feeling it as much as I'm loving this one. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoy writing it.**

_Chapter Two – Don't Know Nothing_

I lie in bed, clutching the covers, squirming around a little. I loosen my grip and stare at the clock flashing beside me. One thirty six...in the morning.

I can't sleep. My mind feels troubled, and I've got a lot to think about. I'm pondering over how Eric Cartman, of all people, will be tutoring me. Did he know that yet? Had Mrs. Roberts already asked him? A lot of questions I wanted answers to.

Closing my eyes, I put my hands under my pillow and turned on to my side. I close my eyes tighter, making sure I'd resist the urge to open them and stay awake.

After what seems like an eternity to me (which isn't all too hard. Five minutes is a long time for someone like me), I manage to fall asleep without much trouble and it's how I stay all night.

I wake up usual time, which is about ten to eight. Which also means I have about twenty minutes to get ready.

As I comb my hair and stare in the mirror and see my uber sexy reflection stare back at me, I don't think about all this tutor business. In fact, it hardly crosses my mind. So, I keep it that way, and continue to get ready.

Grabbing a snack bar from the cupboard, I walk outside, slamming the front door shut behind me.

I feel a bit groggy and pessimistic because of how much sleep I've been missing out on the past few weeks, maybe years, and it's a really sullen atmosphere outside. The skies are full of dark clouds. I think it might rain.

Oh, too late.

So, here I am, walking to school barely prepared, trying hard to forget things I needn't remember, whilst rain spits at me like pellets. I'm getting a little pissed off, because if it rains any harder, it might fuck up my hair, or something.

I might even get wet, and that's not good. I don't like to sit around in wet clothes.

Luckily, I live quite close to school, and I'm here in no time, walking through the corridors before it even dares to get worse outside.

Normally, I'm bombarded by horny teenage girls begging me for sex (some wanting a relationship, but the majority only wanting to have sex with me) but today, I'm not, which is a bit weird.

I walk into the toilets, where I usually hang before school officially begins. I sit on the windowsil, which is located high up on the wall, obviously where this huge window is.

I'm a little bored and tired. I glance at my watch; eight twenty. School didn't begin until twenty five to nine, so I was alright for another few minutes.

I found myself soon drifting to sleep, despite the fact I was in a totally awkward position. I like to sleep like that. I like sleeping in cars sometimes, but it always hurts my back.

"Clyde?"

I wake up a little confused and I look around my surroundings to see who called my name. It was just Craig, I should have known, really. I sigh a little, staring at my watch again. I'd been sleeping for ten minutes, and I had five minutes 'til school began.

"Yeah?" I respond.

He shoots me a weird look. "Were you...sleeping?"

"Kinda," I nod as I speak. He shakes his head, but I don't know why.

"Dude, you should get some sleep," he informs me, even though I know that I should. "Or you risk falling asleep in maths. You know how much that bitch hates that."

I chuckle a little. "Yep. Every other teacher has no problem with it. What's her beef?"

Oh shit. _Maths._

Eric Cartman _tutoring _me.

Maybe I was just making a mountain out of a molehill (I think that's how that saying goes, but I'm not entirely sure to be honest) and having Cartman as a tutor wasn't so bad. I'd known the kid for a long, long time and he'd never done anything all too dangerous to me. He hadn't killed my parents and/or grounded them into chilli...yet.

There was this one time where he got this little kid to bitch slap me when we were playing pirates in Somalia, which was totally uncalled for.

"Clyde?"

I shake my head furiously, knowing that I'd zoned out and began to think of the possibilites of tonight. What if Cartman tried to do anything 'funny' with me, and not just haha funny, but what if he does stuff to me? What if he tries to rape me? Or molest me?

"Dude, are you alright?" he asks me, and I look at him as he stares at me questionally.

"I'm fine," I'm not sure if I'm lying. "Got some shit on my mind."

He shrugs and doesn't reply. Instead, he walks out, in perfect timing with the school bell.

X (o) X –

"Clyde Donovan?"

I smile a little to myself, but I don't know why. "Present."

She gives me an assuring-esque look, and I bite my lip a little.

To make sure I don't fall asleep, I get out a piece of paper that's been in my bag for months now, and it's got apple juice stains lurking in the dog eared corners. I think it's even turned yellowy-brown. I begin to doodle on it as she continues to take the register.

Thank God I'm 'D', and there's still loads more names to get called out.

Staring down at all the squiggles, smiley faces and random pieces of writing, I'm pretty impressed at my handiwork (even though it's not exactly something Monet would be proud of...I think, anyway. Is Monet an artist? How do you pronounce his name? Is it French? Spanish?). It's also an attempt to not fall asleep, and add to the list of countless times I've fallen asleep in class.

That lesson was a blur, as it normally always is for me. All I remember was her setting us some online homework on some website, and some other shit I don't care all too much about. Surprisingly, she didn't pick on me once, which kinda...shocked me. I guess.

English passed by, too. As did Science, and Art. All I remember doing in Art is splattering paint over Kenny and our teacher getting all pissed at me, making me miss about three minutes of my lunch. Meh.

Craig comes up to me at lunch as I stand in the queue.

"Are you excited for your little _date _tonight?" he teases, giving me a huge shit eating grin. I can see my reflection in his braces (for his fucked up teeth) and it's kinda creepy.

"It's not a date," I remind him. It sounds a little harsh, but it's not meant to.

"Whatever," he shrugs, almost flipping me off. "Have you seen him today?"

I raise an eyebrow. Kinda stupid question, considering the fact I'm in most of Cartman's classes. "Yep, but we haven't spoken. He might not know he's meant to be tutoring me."

Craig stares at me, not talking. He shrugs, as if he's given up on talking to me for the time being, and walks away, leaving me alone for once.

X (o) X –

I don't remember what I did in Geography after lunch.

Now I'm in French, which is a totally gay and pointless lesson. Why do we have to learn a language I will never speak? I went to France, like, once, and it sucked total ass.

Aw, shit. I forgot. Cartman sits next to me in French, which isn't as bitchin' as it used to be. He's actually really funny in French, albeit annoying. He was so annoying it was funny. He once said to our totally bangin' substitute 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi'. I know what that means. I like that saying.

He said it to me once. Can't remember why but it made sense back then.

"Afternoon, fag."

I hear his voice in my ears, and I glare at him through the corner of my eye. He's taking his stuff out of his bag, smirking to himself as he plops a headphone into his ear.

"And you're gonna listen to music in the lesson?" I don't know whether it's a question or a statement. Still smirking, he nods, not even looking at me.

I stare at him blankly. "...Why?"

I've got his attention now. His dark brown eyes hit mine and he raises an eyebrow. "Because I want to, and I do whatever the hell I wanna do."

I don't question him anymore, and keep my lips pressed together to refrain from saying anything more.

Our over the toply cheerful French teacher came strolling in, a huge smile on her face, in spite of that fact it was a cold, moist Friday afternoon and the weekend was not long on its way. I rolled my eyes as she greets us in a nauseatingly sweet kinda way and began to explain what we are going to be doing this lesson. I'm not listening, which is no surprise.

Just as I begin to concentrate, Cartman taps me on the shoulder. I don't respond, and I can see he's getting pissed off. He pokes me harder, and I was trying to refrain from crying. I cry a lot, at the simplest of things, and it makes me look like a total fag.

I glower and frown at him.

Once our teacher, Miss. Fraigh, is finished setting a video up for us to watch and take notes on, I finally get around to seeing what he wants. Miss. Fraigh is distracted by the video right now, so there's no chance I'll get caught. Besides, practically everyone in this class talks during videos.

"What?" I whisper loudly and he stares at me for a few moments.

He sighs. "Took you a long time to answer me, dickface."

I don't say anything, and I wait until he says something more. He doesn't.

"Just tell me what you want," I whisper again, a little agitated.

He seems a little agitated too, and he rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I have to tutor a dumb fuck like you."

I freeze a little, and this icy chill flows through my body (just because I'm dumb doesn't mean I'm bad at writing, OK?) and I stare at him. I must be staring at him weirdly because he starts to stare back at me like I'm insane.

"Did you cheat on the test?" I find myself asking before I can stop myself.

"What test?" He's playing dumb for sure. And I think it's offensive to dumb people to play dumb, especially when they're playing dumb with me, because I might be dumb.

"The maths one," I narrow my eyes as he contemplates. He begins to murmur some inaudible stuff that I can't make out or comprehend, and he suddenly returns my gaze.

"Oh, that one," he looks pretty proud with himself. He examines his fingernails, checking out the imaginary dirt lurking underneath them. "Yeah, I cheated. Problem?"

Feeling a little bit afraid of him 'cause he's bigger than me, I shake my head.

"Good," he smiles at me, but it isn't genuine, even I can see that. This guy's as readable as a book. Maybe not like a hard one, or something, but maybe a picture book that's easy to read. I can't read long, thick books. They wear me out with all their long words and they just make me lose all patience and will to live. I read this super long book once, and it felt like my eyes were gonna pop out my head and my brain would suddenly shoot out of my ears, brain juice and all.

"I can't believe _you _have to tutor me," I growl at no one in particular, not even Cartman, and I put my head in my hands.

Somehow, he hears me, and he raises an eyebrow yet again. "What's that, Clyde?"

I look at him. "Nothing. Honestly."

X (o) X –

"Don't think you're getting away _that _easily."

I turn back to see Cartman power walking towards me. He might be running, but his fat is probably slowing him down so it looks like he's just walking fast. But, I don't know.

Before I can protest, he begins to talk again.

"We have a lot of shit to be doing, Clyde," he smiles sweetly at me. "So we better hurry, right? Right." He pushes past me, his fat almost knocking me over into a puddle on the side of the road, and I scowl a little.

It was everything I was expecting.

Before long, we've arrived at his house. I wanted to go to my house, but being the selfish, arrogant pig he is, he said it's 'best to go to his house because he most likely has more food.' Prick.

I'm on the chubby side myself, being labelled as the second fattest kid in South Park, after Cartman, of course.

"We're gonna have to start with the basics," he informs me as soon as we step inside the door without even bothering to offer me a snack first or welcoming me into his, ahem, humble home. His home smells like lavender and pancakes. I don't know how, but it's actually a really nice fragrance. I like it, anyway.

"Normally, we'd go a little more advanced, but because I'm dealing with a complete dumbass like yourself, I have to start with some easy shit," he tells me, and I scowl again. I almost growl at him. Now I see why some people get pissed off with him easily.

"Now, Clyde, what's two times two?" he asks me, his eyes gleaming with a hybrid of mischief, naivety and even some disturbing dark undertones hidden in there.

I smile to myself. My eyes are bright; gleaming. I knew the answer to that one.

"Four," I over excitedly reply, still smiling like an absolute maniac, feeling proud. He stares at me strangely, and I continue to beam at him.

"Right..." he says quietly, still staring at me. My smile was gone now – it was hurting my cheeks so I dropped it. "Moving on." He shoots me another weird, confused look.

I sit there, eagerly awaiting my next question. It felt like a pop quiz, only cooler, because pop quizzes are stupid and irrelevant to my education. I think we should learn about robots. They're cool. If I ever got a pet robot, I'd call him the Clydonator, and he'd clean my room so that I don't have to. That'd be awesome.

"Five times two?" he asks me quickly. I almost don't catch that, but after three seconds of remembering what he said to me, I pout.

Sneaky little butthole, as Cartman would put it.

"That's not fair," I whine. "I don't want to answer that. You know full well I ca-"

Suddenly, the back of my neck begins to sting. I wince in pain as it gradually makes its way to my nervous system, informing me, Clyde Donovan, that it hurt.

Ow.

I turn to face Cartman. He's holding something. A ruler? Yeah, a ruler. He's slapping it against the palm of his hand, a smirk on his face and an untrustworthy glint in his eye.

I pout again, not at all impressed. I stare at him for a few moments, and wait for some of the pain to fade. When it is mostly all gone, I ask: "What did you just do?"

He eyes the ruler he's holding. "I slapped you with this ruler, Clyde. You really aren't the sharpest knife in the drawer now, are you?"

I snarl at him, like a dog. Or a really, really vicious tiger. I don't want to be slapped with rulers. It's bad enough Craig does it to me every History lesson, only he isn't as harsh and it's more playful than out of malice, unlike this fucking pyschopath.

"Why would you slap me with a ruler?" I ask. I must sound so stupid right now.

He narrows his eyes. "Because you complained. Nah, you are my slave, I am your master, capeche?" I stare at him. I thought he was my tutor, not my master. And I could have sworn Kyle was his slave. At least, that's what he told me.

He glares at me with a malevolent look on his face. "Capeche?" he repeats through gritted teeth. I gulp, and I know I'm pretty afraid of him right now.

"Capeche," I respond lamely, looking down at the floor. I mutter a quick apology as he shakes his head, sniggering quietly to himself with his arms folded across his chest.

"Right, now that _that's _out of the way, we can start again," he says, catching me off guard. "Clyde. What is five times two?"

I bite my bottom lip, deep in thought. I use my pencil to scratch my hair. I'm so damn tempted to say twelve because of the countless times I've convinced myself that twelve is the genuine answer.

"Twe-" I stop mid sentence when I see his face. He raises the ruler slightly, indicating he might try and slap me again. "Ele-" he narrows his eyes, saying nothing. I thought harder. "Oh, I got it! Ten!"

He smiles assuringly at me, picking up a piece of paper off the desk. I wonder what it is. It could be something so uber cool that my head would explode, but then again, I really like the colour of Cartman's room and my head wouldn't look good on his floor, all covered in head juice. Also, I don't want to get bitch slapped by a ruler again.

It's on the desk now, mocking me. I glare at it, honestly believing that it's challenging me to a fight. That ruler is a pussy deep down.

"Well done, Clyde," he says indifferently, and I see what's on the piece of paper. It's a sticker sheet, and the stickers are gold stars. He peels one off and places it on my red jacket. I smile for a few seconds before looking back up at him.

"I'm guessing my discipline worked, hmm?" he adds. I nod, afraid to say more.

"I probably shouldn't piss you off," I utter, and I'm not surprised he didn't hear me. He might be ignoring me simply, but I'm not all that sure.

"Well, you know my address," he suddenly says, facing me, shuffling other pieces of paper. "I've got shit to be doing now, so it's best you go. This is just a little teaser, Clyde. How about you visit me, say, tomorrow morning?"

I think for a moment. "But tomorrow's a Saturday."

He chuckles dryly, sounding almost forced. "It is, yes, Clyde. Cancel your plans."

I don't think I have any plans for Saturday morning. I just leave it open in case Craig comes and wants me to come out and do some gay stuff around town or something.

I don't reply, and he stands up. I figure it's only best if I do the same.

"I'm hoping to see you tomorrow," he sounds so posh. Bleurgh. "Around, say, eleven-ish? Sound good, hmm, Clyde?"

I nod. "Sure, whatever."

He smiles, putting his hands behind his back.

Just as I'm about to leave, I turn to face him again, and I call to him: "Will I be slapped if I'm late?"

He giggles. "No, only if you don't do as I say."

I sigh a sigh of relief and head home.

**A/N: Wow, over 3,000 words and 7 pages on this chapter. This is kind of a record for me. I don't really write long chapters, but this story's intriguing me. I really like it; I'm kinda proud. I'm hoping to finish this story quite soon, because it's almost half term and I don't have a lot due this week so I won't be as busy as other weeks. **

**Reviews are highly appreciated, be courteous of my hard work :3 If you don't reply, then your head will explode all over my lovely carpet, all covered in head juice. Haha, I love that, honestly, I do. Isn't the mind of Clyde Donovan exciting, children? :D**


	3. Ultra

**A/N: For once, I actually have nothing to open with. Enjoy, I guess? Reviews are welcome and highly appreciated? Thanks? I don't own South Park? I think I should. It'd be a huge gay fest, and everyone would be so gay that their heads would explode right onto my carpet :D**

_Chapter Three – Ultra_

It's freezing.

Yesterday, it was tipping it down with rain, and today it's cold as fuck. The coldness is nipping at my nose, and I'm regretting the fact that I let Craig borrow my mittens. He still hasn't given them back to me, and I have no idea where they are.

At least I'm wearing a big fat coat to keep me warm.

Cartman's doorbell is pretty cold, like it hasn't been touched for a while. The ice forming on it shocks my fingertips, and a cold sensation runs up and down my body in a heartbeat. I shiver a little, rubbing my hands together unsuccessfully.

The door opens to reveal Cartman, my tutor, who hasn't even bothered to get dressed. Lazy piece of shit.

He's eating a huge bar of chocolate, and I think I'm drooling a little. I love food. Especially tacos. Mmm. I could do with a taco right now. Or maybe a burrito.

"I see you're not gonna get dressed," I say, and he nods, rubbing his eyes. He seems pretty tired.

He doesn't speak; only gestures for me to come in. I walk in, taking off my coat and hanging it on the banister. I follow him upstairs into his bedroom.

"My mom's sleeping so we have to be quiet," he informs me, his voice crackly and raspy, like he really needs to drink some water or something.

I scoff. "Like we'd really be loud studying. Yay!" I wave my hands about, causing him to crack a small smile.

I sit down next to him at his desk as he takes out some books from his bag which was underneath his desk, carelessly scattered on the floor. The ruler was sitting there again, untouched, and the sticker sheet was next to it, too.

He opens a maths textbook and begins to observe it, still munching on his chocolate bar. Cartman points to something and I look at where his finger was.

It's something about division, which I totally suck at.

"Can we begin with short division?" I ask, and he looks at me, the dark circles underneath his eyes a bit more pronounced than before.

"Sure," he lazily replies, moving the text book more to my way. I read it, trying to absorb the information, but it's going through one ear and out the other almost straight away.

He opens a drawer in his desk and hands me a piece of lined paper from it and a clicky pen. I love those things. I like to sit next to Craig in PSHE and click my pen relentlessly and he gets all annoyed and flips me off. It's kinda funny really.

"There's some questions," he yawns. His yawn's really loud and annoying. "Answer them." He rests his head in his hands as I stare blankly at the text book.

"You're my tutor," I clarify. "Aren't you supposed to help me?"

"Tired," he says, or at least I think he did. His voice is muffled due to his arms.

I groan a little, before finally understanding how to work it all out.

After a good twenty minutes of answering about four questions, I poke him and he wakes up and is welcomed back to reality. I hand him the piece of paper with my answers on it, and Cartman takes it and scans it.

"Very good, Clyde," he smiles, peeling off another sticker. "Have a sticker."

I take it, and I stick it on my chest, patting it so it sticks.

"Fag," he remarks. Yep, he's awake now.

"Shut up," I reply, smirking at him. He raises an eyebrow and shoots me a really weird, unexplainable look.

"Do we have to do anymore?" he yawns again. "I wanna go back to bed."

I glance at my watch. "Maybe a bit more." He groans, scowling a little. I roll my eyes.

"Fine," he says. "Let's practise long division. I'm pretty good at it, if I say so myself."

There we go – typical, egotistical Eric Cartman. I smile at how full of himself he is. It's kinda funny.

"I don't get it," I bluntly say, and he looks at me, twisting his mouth.

"You will."

It almost sounded like he was helping me. Was Eric Cartman seriously helping me, giving me helpful advice? Would this be relevant to me and my learning? I'm so fucking confused right now.

He started pointing to stuff, but he's not speaking about what he's doing. Once my brain's finished being slow, I finally realize what he's trying to tell me, and before long, I have the answer for some random long divison sum.

He gets a calculator almost out from nowhere, and checks my answer. He smiles at me.

"Well done, Clyde," he congratulates me, sticking another sticker onto my top.

I smile weakly, and he's starting to wake up a bit more. His hair's really messy. He groans from how presumably tired he is, and he looks kinda...ill.

"You OK?" I really want to know what's up. I'm really nosy.

He eyes me malevolently. "I'm fine, dickwad. Don't ask me if I'm OK, fuckwit."

I love how he calls me names after all those times I've defended him and not turned my back on him.

"I was only aski-" He gives me no time to finish my sentence, and butts in.

"I don't care, Clyde," he snarls. "You're here because you're a dumbass and you need an intelligent guy like me to tutor you. Don't ask about my person life. That's what Jews do; get all nosy, you know?"

I don't know.

"Um.." my mouth is open, and it won't close. Drool is beginning to form and is slowly making its way through the corner of my mouth.

He looks at me weirdly and gestures to me that I do indeed have drool dripping from my mouth.

It's something that occurs when I'm deep in thought, or just really relaxed. Or if I see someone I find hot. But he's not hot. I'm not relaxed. I'm not deep in thought.

I'm here for another hour and a half, and although I'm learning a few new skills, I'm not exactly enjoying it. He keeps texting people and not entirely helping me out. He's a dumbass too and isn't really able to tutor me because he's just as stupid as I am, which is strangely reassuring.

Finally, he tells me that he's done by closing all the text books and throwing them onto the floor. I watch as he does so, and when he's finished, he looks up to me and shoots me yet another weird look. No weird look is ever the same, and that's what makes this kid epic, you know? Probably not brain explodingly epic, but probably ninja pirate epic. Wait, no, ninja pirates are epic. Really, really epic.

And then, I left, scowling as I walk out the front door.

X (o) X –

I'm here, at my house, unlocking the front door. I don't think anyone is awake, not even my dog, Rex. I have to tip toe in quietly, being careful not to step on any loose, creaky floorboards. We have loads of them lurking around, and they always blow my cover.

"Clyde, honey? Is that you?"

Oh, wait, my mom's awake. She's probably making breakfast for me in the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, that's where I find her.

I drop my bag onto the counter, and she smiles at me.

"How was tutoring, hun?" she asks me in her sweet motherly tone. "Did you have fun?"

How can one have fun getting tutored? Girls are so stupid. "Why would I..." My voice trails off when I smell how delicious the food is. I really like pancakes.

She laughs. "How is that Eric boy, hmm? I haven't seen him in quite a while. Is his mother alright? How is she?"

So many questions in one sentence.

"He's fine," I reply simply. "And she's probably fine too. Dude, don't ask me."

I don't give her time to reply as I push past her to go into the living room and watch cartoons for the next half hour.

X (o) X –

I'm tired as shit.

I spent all of last night stupidely playing on my Xbox, despite the countless times my mom said to get off my lazy ass and do something worthwhile. Maybe she didn't say that exactly, but it was along those lines. I think.

It wasn't until around half seven Monday morning when I realized I forgot to complete my English homework. Poo. Oh well.

So, now I'm at school, walking through the corridor, music blaring through my headphones. I don't even know what song I'm listening to.

I bump into Craig, which isn't a coincidence, I'm sure of.

"Oh hello Clyde," he bats his eyelashes, looking totally gay. "Such a nice surprise."

I snarl. I'm too tired to talk to this dickhead.

"Not really," I mutter under my breath. He doesn't hear me, which is good.

He's silent for a while, as am I.

"That was a nice chat," he apathetically announces before walking away.

I sigh a little, and continue walking.

And, as if this day wasn't bad enough, I bump into my asshole of a tutor.

"Dickface," he greets me, eyeing me up and down. I'm scared he'll molest me because he looks like he's seriously undressing me in his mind. He's creepy.

"Butthead." Is that seriously the best I can do? I'm such an immature faggot sometimes.

He narrows his eyes, probably unimpressed by my childish remark. Cartman continues to stare at me. He's probably imagining me naked.

I know I'm totally hawt and all, but it's really freaking me out now.

I'm starting to feel a little awkward around me, and I know I'm blushing.

He knows it too.

"Am I embarassing you?" he smirks, chuckling a little. "Fag."

I snarl and I know the best thing to do is walk away. For some reason I cannot fathom, I don't, and I'm stuck here, looking into his chocolate eyes.

His eyes are seriously the colour of chocolate. Proper chocolate, like, really nice chocolate. Mmm, chocolate. I think I'm drooling again. I forgot to have breakfast, or my usual lack of it rather, and I could do with some food.

"Clyde, I know I'm fit as fuck, but please could you control your creepy crush on me?" He laughs at his own joke. I continue to blush and I wipe away my drool.

It's over my hand and it's really, really gross.

There's a weird look again. This time it's actually kinda...nice.

Yeah, nice.

Bitchin'.

Whoah.

Did I just say Cartman's face is nice?

Eric Cartman. Face. Nice. WTF?

I think lack of sleep is fucking up my head.

**A/N: This chapter's shorter than the others *sadface* but I found it pretty funny so that counts right? TBH I have no idea how to develop their relationship so I decided that Craig is gay (even though we all know this, DUUUH :3 )and is after Clyde's hawt ass :D YAY FOR LOVE TRIANGLES! That's pretty much all I have to say...um, oh yeah, it's half term! W00T. :D**


	4. Mystery Of You

**A/N: I hate how addicting this story is to write. I just want to write it all the damn time, but at the same time I'm determined to play my first sim through college D: In the five years I've been playing/obsessed with that game, no sim of mine has completed college without dropping out or me using cheats. Aw well. Anyway, I'd like to begin with saying thanks for all the reviews :3 I get at least one or two every chapter, which makes me happy :D Also thanks if you've favourited this story or put it on alert, which I know some people have. I don't own South Park but I do own this plot. IT'S MINE. :)**

_Chapter Four – Mystery Of You_

Craig's been acting so weird lately.

We haven't been hanging out as much as we usually did because of my tutoring sessions. I think he's jealous that I'm hanging with Cartman now and not him.

Or maybe he wants Cartman all to himself? Hmm...

_Or me? _No, that's weird. I don't think Craig's gay, but my gaydar is so bad that I didn't know Big Gay Al was gay until I was about eleven. I didn't even realize that he was called Big Gay Al because he was gay. And big. And Al.

I think his name is kick ass. I wanna be called something like Big Gay Clyde. That'd be awesome.

I don't like Craig's nickname for me. He calls me dickhead. Sadface.

But now, he isn't even speaking to me. He just sits there all huffy and all gloomy and all Mr. Miserable like. It's making me sad. Really, really sad.

I decide to confront him face to face.

"Is this about Cartman?" I grab hold of his dark blue jacket and turn him around with all my strength and my might. He looks at me, unsure if he should answer or run.

"What about him?" he retaliates in his usual apathetic tone.

I don't know how to reply.

I begin to think for once. I think my brain might explode from how much thinking I'm doing right now. But that wouldn't be good, because I like my brain, and I might need it someday.

He's turned his back to me again. So, I grab him again, and he furrows his eyebrows as soon as my eyes hit his, his hands turning into fists into a matter of seconds.

"Why are you ignoring me?" I ask, growling a little. I probably look crazy and I'm most likely looking like a serial killer. Roar.

"I'm not," he denies. That's his bad habit – denying. He always flips me off but then denies it afterwards. In fact, that's what he does to everyone, and I don't feel special knowing he does it to everyone.

"Yes, you are," I yell back, not meaning for it to be malicious, but that's how it seems.

He growls loudly. "Just leave me alone, Clyde. I'm dealing with some troubles and I don't need you bothering me."

Ouch.

I think I'm speechless for once.

"Dude," my voice is quieter and much more reassuring, but it's not all too convincing.

Tears are slowly beginning to form in his eyes. Something's wrong because Craig Tucker never cries. _Never, ever._

"If something's up, then tell me," I whisper, recovering from my mini outburst. "You can trust me."

His lips start to tremble. I'm scared he'll burst into tears, and I'll stand here, looking all awkward. I don't know what to do when people cry because I'm not used to it. I'm always the one crying. I cry over everything, seriously.

"I think..." he pauses, sighing. He's wondering if he should tell me or not but whatever it is, I won't hate him for it. Nor will I judge him or turn my back on him. I don't know what he's going to say, but I think it's something bad. Really, really bad.

"I think," he repeats. The words are there, stuck in his throat, but he can't get them out. He gulps, and the words appear. His voice seems raspy, and sounds weak. "I think I'm gay."

Did not see that coming.

X (o) X –

Tap.

_Tap._

_**Tap.**_

_**TAP.**_

"WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?"

I turn and face Cartman who's sitting next to me, reading some comic. It looks really old and battered. And boring. And ga-stupid.

It's French, it's a Wednesday, and I sit next to my ass of a tutor. It's bad enough seeing him in this lesson every Wednesday and Friday without him tutoring me after school those days.

He raises an eyebrow and stares at me for a while, and I just sigh. After a while, he turns back to his comic, and doesn't even attempt to complete the work on the board.

Forgetting what he just instructed for me to do, I continue to tap my fingers on the desk. When I'm worried, distressed, or just plain bored I do that. I think I'm bored.

Through the corner of my eye, I can see he's staring at me again. Another weird look that is surprisingly attractive. Agh.

"Clyde," his tone is harsh and sounds like the words are escaping through gritted teeth. "I swear to God that, if you don't stop doing that, I will rip off your balls and rape your ass until you bleed and can't even walk for a week."

This kid is so mean to me.

I pout and do as he told me. "Sorry, dude. I've just got some shit on my mind."

For some reason, he seems interested. Or is just so bored that he'll do anything to get out of this lesson. No one likes French, especially me.

"What type of shit?"

I stare at him with a blank, confused expression.

"Good shit, bad shit...? What type of shit?" he repeats, and his tone is pretty serious. Why does he care what I'm feeling? What I'm going through? What is up with this kid?

"I don't know," I honestly reply, not really in the mood to talk.

He scoffs. "Not surprised."

I narrow my eyes and am not at all amused. I really don't like the jokes people make about me. Or the way they talk about me. If they're not telling everyone how many girls I've fucked or how good I am in bed, it's about how dumb I am. It's offensive and it hurts me and then I cry so much that my eyes fall out of their sockets and then explode on my pillow, and then there's eye juice all over it.

My mind is fucked up, am I right? Or am I right?

What's the opposite of right?

"You're my tutor, aren't you?" I say. "You're supposed to be helping me get smarterer."

He laughs at my choice of wording. 'Smarterer?' Seriously?

"Yeah, I am, but it's for Maths, not for life," he smiles. It's a creepy smile, but still, a smile's a smile. "I suck at maths. I don't want to be your tutor."

_Wow, thanks, Cartman._

I put my head in my hands and he looks at me, frowning. He seems kinda concerned about me. But...why? Why?

He pokes me.

"Seriously, Clyde, what the hell is wrong with you?" he asks. "You're not going to sit there and be a whiny little pussy faggot are you?"

I sigh into my arms. "Nwoh, mut's gost mwy flwend muyhut hybe ohokosecksuwal feawingls ftor mei." I say something into my sleeve, and it comes out sounding a bit like that.

I can sense he's there with a raised eyebrow, perplexion clouding up his eyes.

He slaps my arm and, needless to say, it hurts. Owie.

"What was that for?" I shoot up, my voice sounding louder than I had orginally intended it to come out like.

"I can't understand a fucking thing you just said," he tells me. I lamely apologize, and he just scoffs and shakes his head.

"I said that it's just my friend might have homosexual feelings for me," I clarify, and his mouth is wide open.

He looks like he's about to turn away before he suddenly bursts out laughing.

I frown at him. "It's not funny, asshole."

He wipes a tear from his eye and is panting heavily.

"Oh sorry, dude," his voice is heavy, and he's gasping in between words. "Someone has gay feelings...for _you? _What the fuck is wrong with them?"

I continue to frown at him. He's such an insensitive bastard sometimes, even I realize that.

"I don't know if it's me he's after," I add with a smile, trying to lighten up and be more optimistic about all this shit. "He might just be gay for someone else."

At least, that's what I want to think.

He's about to reply when the bell goes. He smiles at me for a few seconds before announcing: "See you tonight, fag." With that, he walks away.

X (o) X –

Tutoring was, quite frankly, torture today.

He couldn't stop laughing at me and I learned absolutely nothing. Zip, zelch, nada.

He's supposed to be my Maths tutor and he's not helping at all.

I get home and the first thing I do is make myself some coffee. It helps me relax sometimes, especially when I'm really stressed, even though someone as happy and stupid as me aren't usually all too anxious about stuff.

My head is throbbing, so I decide to take some strong aspirin along with my coffee.

I know Craig didn't directly tell me he's gay for me, but still. He might as well be gay for me. I'm just over thinking. I seriously need to get some sleep fast, and this caffeine isn't going to help me.

Surprisingly, and for once in my life, that night I have a pretty undisturbed good night's rest, and I actually wake up on Thursday feeling refreshed and better than ever. I've never felt so awake in my whole lifetime.

X (o) X –

"How is your tutoring going?"

I can't believe I'm stuck after school _again. _My maths teacher is asking this question to me and I just want to get home. I have really important homework to get completed and most of it contributes to my final grade, which I totally don't want to be a D or an E or an F. Oh my God, what about a Z? A Z-?

Do they even exist?

They should, like, come in special edition, just for people like me. No, wait, there should be a grade that's _lower _than a Z- - a _Clyde Donovan Grade. _Yeah, that'd seem appropriate.

"It's fine," I shrug, not paying all too much attention to her, to be completely honest.

"Are you sure?" This bitch is so clever it almost scares me. "You sound like it's not totally fine. Is there a problem with your tutor?"

_Yep, there is. He sucks total ass, and he's mean to me, and is probably conspiring to rape me, then eat my body as he brutally kills me. But that's silly, right?_

"No, Miss," I lie. "I'm just not learning a lot at the moment. And it's totally boring."

She tuts. "As the tutoring session goes on, I'm sure you will learn a lot more exciting things. Heck, maybe you'll get an impressive final grade, hmm?"

I roll my eyes. I don't even reply to her.

And how is maths exciting?

"Yeah, sure, fine, whatever," I mutter, and she dismisses me. I'm free to go home.

Fina-fucking-ly.

X (o) X –

Craig's not answering his phone.

He always answers his phone, especially if it's me.

I've texted him three times in the past two hours, phoning him a further six times to check if he's OK, but I'm getting no luck.

He's really bummed, and I'm beginning to suspect that he does like me as more than just a friend.

I'd love him back if it weren't for the fact that I love poontang. I like a bit of pussy, it's really fun. I don't see how dicks are fun to play with. What's the big deal with gay men? What is their interest in the common cock? Makes me wonder.

Finally, my phone bleeps, but it's not Craig. It's Cartman.

Ugh.

It's a text message, which is weird because I don't recall ever giving him my number. All I know is that, by opening up this mysterious text, that it's from my fucking fat tutor.

_Hey Clyde, this is Cartman btw, just checking if ur alrite? _

Why was he checking if I was alright? What's with _his _sudden interest with me? I know he's my tutor and all, but why is Cartman, of all people, concerned about _me?_

So many fucking questions.

I find myself texting back.

_Um...sure. I'm fine? R U OK? Y r u texting me? How did u get my no?_

I slide the phone screen down and I'm just about to put it back into my pocket when I see he's replied in a matter of seconds. I'm guessing he must sit by his phone all day, waiting for someone to call him or text him. He's a sad, lonely fuck that I feel less than sorry for.

_I asked some1 4 it. Just checkin dickface, can't a tutor check up on his student?_

I'm so tempted to ring him up and flame him to hell, but I honestly can't be bothered. I'm never bothered, unless I need to be, which is probably never, so this statement is invalid and irrelevant. You read this! You can't _un_read it!

_Not if his name's Cartman._

I wait, and I don't wait for too long before my phone buzzes in my hand. It's a really cool tickle and I giggle as it vibrates. Sounds dirty.

_Haha, v funny, douche._

I sigh, and end the conversation by not texting back. Ha, I feel so beast for doing that.

Even though it's only half nine, I crawl into bed, and try my best to fall asleep.

But I can't.

My heart begins to race.

My pulse rate begins to increase.

The blood is rapidly moving through my body.

Sweat pours down my face.

I can't sleep.

Why? Because two familiar faces are there in my mind, and they're both so...overly _gay _for me. I've heard sometimes that's what happens when you're in love.

But I'm not in love, am I?

I can't be. I like pussy, I swear of it.

But who's the one I like?

WTF is going on inside Clyde Donovan's head tonight? Not surprisingly, I'm confused.

**A/N: Phew. I'm glad to have gotten this out of the way. Awh, our little Clydey Wydey is pwobably in love :3 But who with? Don't you just love a confused Clyde? DON'T YOU? DON'T YOU? I DO.**

**ANYWAAAAAAAAAYS, I just found out that anonymous reviews were disabled, which gave me a sad, so I enabled them, so now you're free to review! YAAAY!**

**Also, I sorta made a subliminal reference to that gay story I've been writing where Cartman's an evil murderer RAWR. Be honest – it's a piece of shit, isn't it? I'm sorry it's not set in high school where Stan's gay for Kyle. That's all I see nowadays. It's made me gone off Style :(**

**Anyways...see you next time! I LOVE YOU BTW, MARRY ME, PLEASE?**


	5. Weightless

**A/N: First of all I want to again thank everyone for reading this and thanks for all the reviews :) Writing Clyde isn't all that hard, especially when you share the same attention span :/ So, um, yeah, here's chapter five?**

_Chapter Five – Weightless_

"What's the name of a change that you can't reverse and get the original result back? Anyone? Clyde, how about you? Clyde?"

_I think...I think I'm gay._

The words reverberate in my head. I remember them all too clearly.

"Mr. Donovan are you sleeping in my science class?"

I feel the sharpness of a pencil led jabbing into my arm. I immediately shoot up – and I find myself in the science laboratory. How long had I been sleeping for? I don't even remember drifting off...I'm just so tired...I seriously need some sleep, like, now.

My science teacher is glaring at me, her arms folded across her chest.

"Clyde," she sighs. "Were you sleeping in my classroom?"

A little embarrassed, I nod my head, and she tuts at me. What the hell did I do wrong? Humans need sleep, don't they? Without sleep, we'd be tired, and we'd be boring, and I don't wanna be tired or boring. That sounds totally gay.

"Mhmm," she shakes her head, rubbing her lips together. "I don't know why I bothered in the first place. It's not like _you'd _know the answer."

Bit harsh.

_Wow, thanks? Do you have to rub my stupidness in?_

She turns her back to me and the whole class and begins to write on the board. The board pen is faint and it's squeaking, which is really annoying me, and I can't think straight. Not that I ever do, but I really want to stay focused today. I have enough shit on my mind to deal with right now.

"Right, class, this is your homework," she points to what she has written. I squint, unable to read it all too much, and lean over my desk, which attracts a few stares.

"Clyde, are you alright?" It didn't sound as caring as I wanted it to be. She's staring at me weirdly, like Cartman does, only her weird looks are less sexy and less epic.

"Um...I can't see?" It's more of a question than a statement, but, being the genius I am, I don't even know how. The mind is great. Too bad I never bother to use mine.

She sighs again and tells me to come up to the board.

I look, quite frankly, like a prick. A twat. Oh wow, I just swore in British. I think I feel really smart for that. Anyway, so here I am, standing real close to this whiteboard, perving on it. It smells of ink and it's really dirty. Not that type of dirty, but if it was, then I bet it'd have a few board STDs. I don't know what the fuck I'm on about right now, but it makes sense to me. Sorta.

Oh, look. Our homework is a four week – a month, right? – assignment which is done in groups of three. We have to make an experiment that's useful and related to what we're doing, which is, I think, reactions and changes. I don't know what the fuck they are, but I'm gonna go with someone who actually does.

Everyone's choosing their groups and I'm wondering around, just about to make my way to the dorky, nerdy freaky geek person and those guys when I feel a hand touch my shoulder.

I turn around to see who it belongs to and, unexpectedly, it's Craig, who I thought I was on a no speaking term with.

"Go with me," it's like he's instructing me. I'm waiting for a deragatory remark after it, like, 'or else I'll rape your house'. He's always threatening to rape my house but he never threatens to actually rape me. I'd be easier to rape. I know how to keep secrets. My house is a little gossiping bitch. Yeah, I see the way she looks at me.

He doesn't add anything onto the end of it, and I'm stood there silent, waiting for something to happen. Again, I look like a dick. Wait, no, according to that one movie, dicks are good, right? They fuck pussies and assholes, right? What's that movie again? The one whe-

"We're meant to be going in threes," I brush him off of me, but to be honest, I don't know why I've suddenly turned my back on him. There's still a possibility he doesn't like me, but it's Tweek he likes. I know Tweek wants Craig because I've seen those winks he gives him. But the little slut gives me winks sometimes and he even winks at teachers, which is totally gross. Blurgh. "Not partners."

He shrugs. "We'll find someone else to go with, then." Under his breath, he mutters, 'dumbass', as if I can't hear him.

Before I can open my mouth to reply, we've found our last group member.

"Alright, fags?"

I sigh. I'm not exactly in the mood to be looking at my maths tutor who is totally mean to me and doesn't really help me with much. I like the stickers he gives me though. And his mom makes nice tacos. Mmmm.

I can see Craig shuffle away from him a little after he said 'fags', but in all fairness, Cartman doesn't know about Craig – I don't think anyone does apart from me.

"What makes us want to go with _you?_" Craig sounds a bit...nervous. That isn't like Craig at all. Something's up with this kid, and I'm too dumb to figure it out.

For some reason, Cartman hugs me, and I feel all awkward and shit.

"Because I own Clyde."

WTF?

Since when did he call dibs on me? I thought I owned Clyde? HOW THE FUCK DOES HE OWN CLYDE?

Oh, I'm Clyde. I knew that.

Craig stares at him blankly, unsure of how to reply to that.

"No you don't?" I ask in confusion, and he stares at me really evily. A grin begins to form on Cartman's face, and he looks like a pedophile.

"I do now," he smirks, snaking his fat arms around my shoulders. I still feel so uncomfortable with this, even though his arms are so warm and fat that I could fall asleep in them. And dream about tacos, and unicorns. OMG, unicorn tacos would be just _epic._

"...How?" I'm really confused, which isn't all too new.

"Because I want to," he says. He always thinks he can get what he wants. "And I do what I want. I take no shit."

He sounds like those teenage girls. He's all like, whateva, I do what I want, and I'm like, um, OK, then?

"Clyyyyyde..."

Craig's still staring at me weirdly as I look at Cartman, who's smiling as sweetly as he possibly can. I'm fooled. He's manipulative, and I believe that smile.

"Pwease be my slaaaaave?"

I look at Craig, who's wearing a very sexy 'WTF' expression. I think I am too, because all of this is totally confusing, and awfully weird.

I shrug. "I'll think about it. For now, we just gotta concentrate on this motherfucking project."

X (o) X –

Ah, Friday afternoon. Yes, I have a tutoring session with Cartman, but it won't be all bad if I just distract him from doing anything and we end up watching TV whilst stuffing our faces with cheesy poofs.

I walk home with him, and all the way home he's being totally gay towards me. I mean literally gay.

We're two blocks away from his house, and he's suddenly began to walk very close to me. I'm claustrophobic, and Cartman's so fat he's taking up most of the sidewalk. I'm being squeezed against very sharp bushes. That's dangerous. An oblivious kid could be walking and suddenly bang against the bush and then get impaled by a leaf that is so sadistic it will kill anyone and anything.

He keeps bumping into me, and for some reason he's swinging his hips a lot, so they keep hitting me in my side. I'm really short and he's really tall, so we must look so unbelievably silly walking together due to our ridiculous height difference.

Girls say it's cute that I'm short, but I hate being short. It's even worse 'cause I'm known as the second fattest kid in South Park so I'm all fat and stumpy. I'm like, the male equivelant of Snooki, except I don't wear fake tan or make up.

I suddenly speak after a few moments of an awkward silence.

"Why do you want to go with me and Craig?" I ask him, referring to our science lesson, but that's irrelevant because I bet everyone already knew that.

He jumps at the sudden sound of my (oh so sexy) voice.

"W-what?" he's playing dumb and again, I don't like it.

"In science. Craig, me, you..." I'm just jumbling words together, creating a sentence that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Somehow, and for some reason, he understands me.

"Oh," he chuckles to himself, but I don't get what's so funny. "Yeah..."

He shrugs and chuckles a little bit more. I arc an eyebrow in his direction and he smiles at me. He's so cute when he smiles, and my mouth literally turns into a little 'three' sort of shape, like that internet emoticon. I must look so irresistibly adorable right now.

He continues to walk when suddenly I realize he never answered my question.

"Oi," I call him, clicking my fingers to get his attention. He turns and faces me, stopping in his tracks. His hands are placed firmly in his pockets (maybe Craig stole his mittens as well?) and his breath is hanging in the air. Did I mention how cold it is here in South Park? Sometimes we have heavy snowfall during the summer, which sucks and is so lame that my head might explode someday from the coldness.

"Answer my question, biatch."

"Alright, ho. I went with you 'cause I wanted to, got a problem with that?"

I seem a little intimidated by that. Despite his tubbyness, he actually looks pretty threatening and fierce, probably due to his height. I back away, hitting the bushes again, and shake my head.

I didn't question him after that.

X (o) X –

Today's tutoring lesson went quicker than I had expected. It was done in a matter of seconds, which is either good or bad – I just don't know what option to go with.

_Flashback –_

"_Right, we're done."_

_I look at him like he's crazy, knowing that we've finished earlier than most sessions tend to end. _

"_...What?" I ask him as he politely puts my textbooks into my school bag. I glance at my watch – four o' clock. Usually I don't get home until about half four or five._

_He slapped me with a ruler near the start, and my hand still tingles. All I did was refuse to answer a really, really hard question that I don't think the smartest man in the whole wide world would be able to answer._

_I mean, what is ninety nine times by nine?_

"_We're done," he repeats. _

_I get out of my seat without saying another word and take my school bag off of him. I pout, a little bit...sad to be leaving so early. I'm so used to our little tutoring sessions that they've become a basic part of my daily schedule. Gay as it sounds, it's true._

"_Oh, Clyde, wait..." he calls as soon as I open his bedroom door. I stop and turn to him, and see he's running towards me with this piece of paper in his hands._

"_Yeah?" _

_Cartman slips the paper into my hands and I read it._

_Without even a thank you or a second glance, I walk out, and now I'm more confused than Clyde Donovan has ever been, and ever will be._

_- End of Flashback_

Now, here I am, sat on the edge of my bed, wearing nothing but my pyjamas and some fluffy, pink socks I sto-_borrowed_ from my mom, reading this paper over and over again.

**~ Clyde, come to my house tomorrow for a totally killer party. It's the best one you'll ever go to. It's better than Craig's totally lame one the other week. And it's better than something that Jew will ever throw. So come, Clyde, or else I'll smash your head in. Just kidding. – Cartman ~**

I don't think he's kidding; I think I should go, because I like my head. I need it.

Craig throws pretty sweet parties, so I don't know what the hell he's on about.

Besides, why am I invited to his 'party'? Who else has he invited? Did I get a personal invitation addressed to me, and only me? Why am I asking so many questions?

Ow.

Thinking hurts my head.

I'm starting to think this kid has a creepy obsession with me. Maybe he sometimes sneaks into my house at night and watches my sleep like that creepy fairy vampire thing does to that chick in that one movie based on that one book.

Or, more realistically, he faps over me. I know a lot of people do that because I'm sexy and all, but it's creepy to think some kid out there is jizzing over me. Ew.

Craig might be spunking over me right now. How romantic.

I'm just about to phone Craig when his name suddenly flashes up on my screen. I answer it, just because I'm desperate to talk to him.

"Dude.."

He butts in. "Clyde, dude, did you get Cartman's invitation today? Turns out he's having a party. Apparently it's actually gonna be _good._"

"He says it'll be better than yours," I reply, and there's a pause down the other end.

"Psh," he laughs. "No way. He said that to you?"

I'm caught off guard, I must admit. "Um...no, it was written on my invitation."

Another pause. Goddammit.

"Oh."

"Yeah," I scratch my head. It's so awkward right now, talking to a kid who has a potential crush on me.

"So..." he sounds like he's thinking. "Are you gonna go?"

"What?" I ask, not really paying much attention.

"Are you going to go?" he says it real slow so I can understand him. I'm not a complete dumbass.

"Yeah, it'll be fun," I shrug. "Are you?"

Another fucking dose of silence. "Sure, why not?"

I smirk before adding: "Cool." I hang up before he can say anything more, and I plan on getting an early night if I'm gonna spend tomorrow night partying and getting drunk or high.

**A/N: Cookies for anyone who: a) spotted the Twilight reference b) spotted the Team America reference (I love that movie – anything Trey and Matt do is hilarious, amirite?) c) can work out 99x9. This chapter might be a little more boring than others, but I promise that the drunken gayness unwinds in the next chapter. Both pairings are involved in the next chapter, but seeing as it's a Cartyde story, it's mostly gonna be a whole loada Cartyde, but you love that, seeing as you clicked on this.**

**P.S. Irrelevant side note – I might delete my other full length story. Nobody's reading it; it's a piece of shit, be honest. It doesn't belong on fanfiction because all we love the cliche, high school, yaoi stories. It's in our blood, right? This one's much better because I know more people are reading it and it's easier for me to write. **

**P.P.S Sorry for any typos or slipping into the past tense (apart from the flashback, of course). It's half term so I'm being sloppy, sue me!**

**P.P.P.S Sorry for the long author's note. Does anyone actually read these things apart from me?**


	6. Blind

**A/N: Aha, so I watched 'Eek, A Penis!' a few nights ago and I couldn't help but laugh at how our darling Cartman wanted to smack Clyde with that pointer-thingy he was holding. To be honest, I had vaguely based the ruler smacky thing on that scene but I totally didn't realize he mentioned spanking Clyde :3 Ah. Anyway, shall we welcome the gayness we've all been waiting for? **

_Chapter Six – Blind_

_Ding dong._

The party's already in full swing (without me? Everyone knows I'm the life of the party, damn it!) and I can hear the music blasting on full volume. People actually seem to be having fun. Fun? At Cartman's party? It doesn't seem possible.

But then again, I don't stalk his life, so I don't know if he suddenly got super popular all of a sudden. Hell, I have hardly spoken to him since some other gay event happened when we were, like, twelve. I can't remember exactly what happened, but all I know is that it was super gay and retarded.

Cartman answers the door and upon seeing me, he smiles.

I can't help but think how hot he looks (no homo, I promise). His hair's all messy and looks like it's been straightened a little – if that's not gay, then I don't know what is. He's wearing figure hugging jeans which on fat people should not look good – surprisingly, they do, and make his legs look out of proportion with his tubbiness.

Oh, and he smells good. Really good.

"Come in, Clyde," he gestures for me to walk in, and I do so without saying a word.

It's like any other ordinary, stereotypical American teenage party – people dancing, couples either cuddling, dry humping or making out, wasted people, close-to-passing-out people, and people who are a little bit tipsy talking nonsense to sober people.

I might stay sober tonight, for safe measures, but I don't know where tonight could go.

My old school counsellor used to warn me about alcohol. I followed his wise words of 'alcohol is bad, mkay?' The mkay made me scared of alcohol, but now that I'm older, it never stopped me.

"Nice party," I compliment.

He nods, almost agreeing with me. "I must say that I did a pretty good job. Wouldn't you say so, Clyde?"

I nod and mutter something even I can't comprehend, which is nothing entirely new or out of the ordinary.

Lots of people I recognize are here. Two chicks I once slept with keep mentally undressing me from afar, and it's freaking creepy. I need a bodyguard sometimes. I think Cartman could do a good job. He'd be all like, respect mah fucking authoritah then smack my enemy with a ruler, then an epic slap fight would commence, and I'd be watching like, WOO! Yeah. That'd be sweet.

Just as I begin to check out some cute girls, Craig carelessly bumps into me, almost knocking me over. I take one look at him and yeah, he's pretty wasted.

It's only nine o'clock and he's hammered already.

"Clyde, why you are way in my?" he slurs. I don't understand a fucking word this kid is saying. I hate drunk people. I don't know what they're saying to me and then they start falling on me or passing out, and it's really weird and it worries me and...

Oh, fuck it.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and leaning in closer to him. He's swaying a whole load, his mouth is wide open, and one of his eyes are bloodshot.

He doesn't answer my question, which is no surprise.

"You're too drunk," I inform him, as if he doesn't know already. I don't think he does, to be frank. "I think you should go home, Craig."

He stares at me, pouting slightly. "Drunk? I'm really...really I'm...no. Not." I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

He looks at himself for a while before pinning me up against this nearby wall. I don't remember a wall being behind me, but apparently there is, so go with it.

It hurts.

He smirks at me, and it's creepy as shit. I think he might rape me.

Craig has no idea what he's doing in all fairness, but still, I'm fucking afraid of what he'll do to me. I'm still a virgin in _that _department, and that's the way I want it to stay.

His breath reeks of really strong alcohol as he breathes onto my face. It's warm, but still. It's not all too pleasurable, and I don't know what to do. Craig's weaker than me usually, but somehow I can't escape him this time. Despite my strength, I just can't. I'm stuck with a gay guy who most likely wants to sleep with me.

This is probably the worst situation I, Clyde Donovan, have gotten into.

It's even worse than that one time where I got headlice, eurgh.

But not that pirate club. That was cool up until the point where I found out there is no actual plunder in Somalia.

He starts giggling uncontrollably and he keeps poking my nose and whispering my name.

"Clyde...Clyde..." I don't know what's so funny, but his laugh is making me want to laugh with him.

He gets mad, seeing as I'm not responding. I look at him to show him I am giving him my fullest attention – in a situation like this, it's hard not to.

Suddenly, I feel him pressing his body tighter against mine, the distance between our lips gradually decreasing. My heart's stuck in my throat – this is really weird. I don't know how to get out of this; I'm screwed.

He whispers my name a few more times, and each time it gets creepier and creepier. He looks like he's enjoying _this. _I'm not. I don't like what's going on right now. I just wanna go home and play video games or something that I normally do when I'm bored.

He sees the worry in my brown eyes, and giggles at how I look; I frown at him, but he ignores me.

He does far from that.

Instead, he slides one hand up beneath my jacket, and my whole body tingles in either confusion, fright or pleasure, but I'm guessing it's a hybrid of all three.

"This is wrong..." I mutter. He doesn't listen to me. "Craig, stop..."

He's touching my body, and I'm not liking it one bit. He finds it fucking hilarious however, flashing me a huge shit eating grin.

Disturbingly, he moves in closer (if that's even possible) and our crotches are physically grinding against each other. I close my eyes and try to not think about how one of my best friends is about to rape me.

I open one eye, and he's still there, looking like an evil scientist. I don't know why a scientist, it's just that 'rapist' seems a bit of an understatement in this current situation.

"Craig, what the fuck?"

Craig lets out a gasp as he's pulled backwards forcefully by his jacket, and I sigh, relieved. I look to see that Cartman had got him off of me and I actually feel somewhat grateful. Eric Cartman saved me from Craig Tucker. It sounds so weird, so unreal, but it's happened, and I'm living proof.

If someone wants to write a news story on how Cartman helped someone, they can come to me, because I'm a witness. Or it happened to me. I'm not the sharpest spoon in the spooncase, and this has probably been gathered by now.

Craig amples off, stumbling and hitting walls as he goes into another room.

Cartman's standing there smugly, his hands folded across his chest, and I'm standing in the same position I was in when I was getting molested by Craig. My hands are hanging beside me, limp, and I'm unsure of what to do with them.

"Well?" he suddenly pipes up, and I look at him a little more, breathing heavier than usual. My heart rate hasn't gone down yet, which I think I should get checked out, because it's seriously worrying me.

"Well what?"

He rolls his eyes. "Clyde, I just potentially saved your ass. _Thank me._"

He's so obnoxious sometimes, but he has a point – all those times I've defended Cartman, he does owe me one, and he saved me from getting buttraped tonight.

"Thanks?" I say. I'm much more grateful than I sound.

He smirks at me. But he doesn't leave. He's still standing there, waiting to see if I have anything more to say, but unfortunately for him, I'm done with talking. I think I need to drink; clear my head a little.

Just as I'm about to walk over to the drinks table, he grabs me by the waist (I know, I know) and I'm forced to turn around. We must look so gay – he span me round by holding onto my waist, so we look like we're doing the tango or something. One arm is snaked around my waist, and my hands are pressed against his chest.

He doesn't seem to mind, or care.

"Craig is such a _fag,_" he rants as I turn my back to him. I start pouring myself a drink, an alcoholic one, even though I promised myself – and my mom – that I wouldn't get drunk like I usually do.

I act like I never heard him.

"I mean, who pins some guy up against a wall and tries to rape them? It's wrong I tell you. Wrong!"

I turn to face him and I'm a little pissed off. "Craig's one of my best friends."

He splutters a little, shrugging. "And? Doesn't change the fact he's a fag."

"He _is _a fag," I bluntly say. I'll regret ever telling him that.

Cartman stares at me for a while, taking in what I just informed him. He just stands there all creepy like for a few seconds, before bursting out with laughter.

"It's not that funny, you know," I tell him. He seems to find it hysterical – he's wiping a tear away from his eye. God, what an intelorent asshole. Normally I'd never be mean about anyone but Cartman doesn't have feelings to insult. He's not even human.

He could be part alien, part robot. That'd be pretty reasonable – yeah, I'm going with my theory. Eric Cartman is an alien robot that wants to steal my soul and devour it in one go. Like ginger kids. I'm creeped out by them.

"Craig? _Gay? _Oh man, I have to tell people about this!"

I'm even more frustrated than before, and Clyde Donovan doesn't get frustrated all too often. He just...cries a lot. Yeah, cries.

"Shut the fuck up!" I yell at him. "You're not telling anyone. It's meant to be a secret."

He stifles another giggle. "Then why the fuck did you tell me, Clyde?"

I just want to pounce on him, but I'm scared I'll damage his fat. Hitting fat actually hurts; I would know. "Because you were pissing me off?"

Cartman flashes me another shit eating grin and leans in closer to me. The weird part is that he's completely sober, and I'm pretty sure he's heterosexual.

"OK, fine, I won't tell anyone," he says.

I look at him in disbelief. "You w-what?"

His eyebrows furrow, forming a perfect 'V' shape. "I said that I won't tell anyone, OK, Clyde?"

I nod, gulping for some unknown reason. I smile at him, and for some insane reason, I believe him.

He's still too close to me though, and it's still creeping me out like hell.

I feel his meaty arms around me again. His hands are dangerously low, and it's worse than when Craig tried to rape me a few moments ago.

"What are you doing?" I ask once I've recovered from the confusion of him grabbing me.

"Just giving you a hug," he responds as innocent as possible.

I'm still confused, and I don't know if I want to hug _him. _I see him practically every day after school, and I'm pretty sick of him always there, taunting me. The stickers are still pretty bitchin' though, and I look so totally pimpin' when I wear 'em.

"...Why?" I ask, once again a delayed reaction.

"Because I want to," he hisses. "Anymore questions, Clyde?"

I shake my head.

I wait for it to go a bit quieter before asking him a real personal question no guy wants to hear.

"Cartman, are you...are you gay?" I'm trying to sound so harmless that it hurts. I don't want him to punch me and yell at me for even daring to call him a faggot, but I also don't want him admitting his feelings to me. I've already dealt with one gay escapade this week and I'm not ready for another one anytime soon.

He bites his lip. He looks genuinely afraid for once; I see anxiety in his cloudy chocolate coloured eyes.

He doesn't reply. "So, you are?" It's my only choice to draw to a conclusion.

Cartman shoots me an angry look, the mood changing drastically.

"No, Clyde, why the fuck would you ask a question like that? What the _fuck _is wrong with you, you dick?" he spews venom at me. He may sound angry, but his eyes tell otherwise.

I don't bother to argue any more tonight, so I just shrug. "I was just wondering."

He blinks back tears; tears of confusion; frustration.

Life is apart to change for Clyde Donovan.

X (o) X –

Eleven thirty.

Three missed calls. All from my mom.

The party's dying down now, with most people deciding to call it a night and going home to their warm, cosy beds. I'm only here because I'm nursing a very drunk Craig, who's gradually becoming sober again.

Cartman walks up to me, his hands in his pockets. We haven't spoken since his little outburst.

"Go home if you want," he simply mutters. "And take Craig with you."

"No, I'll stay," I respond.

"No, go home," he argues, but his tone is softer, like cotton candy. Mmm, cotton candy's so nice. I could do with some candy right now, especially marshmallows, because they're tasty and yummy in my tummy.

"No, I'll stay," I repeat, my voice getting louder.

Craig rubs his head, and apathetically chants: "Ow."

Cartman facepalms. "Clyde, go home, and I'll look after Craig."

Wait...Cartman's offering to help someone? This is a first. Something's up, and I don't like it. I'm afraid of up. I hate heights, they scare me.

I might fall or die, or really injure my poor little head, or something.

"No," I bluntly spit, not making any eye contact with him. "I don't trust Craig in the care of you."

He looks hurt, but he attempts to cover it.

Eventually, he gives up in arguing with me, knowing he won't win this one.

Craig springs up, his hands still firmly pressed against his head, and he tells me he's going to go home, get some well needed rest. Not really caring, I just nod, and watch as he walks out the door, still stumbling.

Someone's gonna be in that bathroom tonight.

I'm left in Cartman's living room, unsure if I should leave now or stay a little longer.

I'm about to get up and make a run for it before Cartman sits beside me on the sofa. I can feel it sink as he puts his weight onto it – poor little sofa.

He pulls me in closer. Damn his hugeness and his ability to control me. That sounded mega dirty, hee hee.

"Well, well, well, Clyde," he smirks. He's obsessed with smirking, I swear of it. "I see you've decided to stay. Well, seeing that you're _still_ here, what should we do?"

I shrug, honestly not knowing.

He thinks for a moment. "Then I don't think you'll mind if I do _this._"

Another shit eating, butt raping, cock sucking grin.

He slams me up against the wall with much more force than Craig used, and I bang my head. Cartman doesn't seem to care that he hurt me, and continues to feel me up, only rougher than Craig had done. I'm even more scared about this.

I'm probably gonna have to say goodbye to my anal virginity tonight.

I'm just about to open my mouth to say something and tell him to get the fuck off of me but I'm interupted by something...

Something warm...

Oh God, he isn't...

Before I know it, I'm being forcefully kissed...by a guy. By Cartman.

Girls dread this thought. I dreaded it. No one imagines this. And somehow, I'm here, being mouth raped by Cartman. This is one big nightmare, I swear. This is not happening.

I don't bother fighting, so I give up and return the kiss, even though he's much more passionate that I am. By passionate, I mean rough as fuck (hee hee, that rhymes, sorta) and it's somewhat...arousing. Somehow, he's a good kisser, this feels good, better than any other girl I've experienced...

He slides his tongue in, but I bite it, and he pulls away, breaking the kiss.

"Ow!" he screams. "What the fuck was that for?"

"I should probably ask you the same," I reply. Good one, Clyde. That was a good remark. I think. In my world, it is, so deal with it.

He doesn't reply. He can't even look at me. I don't know whether I feel disgusted or turned on right now. Probably both.

"Clyde, I think you should go," he whispers, and, without a further argument or a hot making out sesh, I go.

And all I can think of as I walk out that front door is WTF.

**A/N: Probably wasn't all too hawt, sue me. And I know – I seem so lazy near the end when it comes to Clyde's cute little side comments or dumbass statements, mostly because I needed to make this move quicker and it needed to be more action more than ... stupidity, basically XD Anyways...hope you enjoyed this chapter, and, as I promised, this is where the gayness of the almighty Cartyde starts! Muahahaha- *cough cough*. Remember to keep leaving reviews, be courteous of my hard work :3 **

**Or else I'll unleash my pet Craig on you. I'll do it.**

'**Til next time!**


	7. Kicking and Screaming

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews :3 I don't reply to them individually unless it's a question I really need to answer. OK, anyway, I'm going through a whole lotta family shit right now that's all about me, again -_- I hate this family. I really do. Anyways, enjoy, and forget all about my problems.**

_Chapter Seven – Kicking and Screaming_

Monday – another boring day. I hate Mondays. I hate any day, really. School being the most obvious reason. I just wanna lie in sometimes, sleep for the whole day.

And, to be truthful, I really want to avoid Cartman today. But I can't.

Cuz today is Monday. I have a tutoring session with him – ugh.

I haven't seen Craig so far; it's now period three. He's probably skipping class or school altogether, or someone saw his attempted rape and turned him in. Or he turned himself in. That'd be weird, and unCraig-like.

I've caught up on a lot of sleep – I spent most of yesterday afternoon in bed, not doing my homework – so I haven't fallen asleep in class yet, which is good.

Even though we have a few classes together today, I haven't seen Cartman either. Probably just because I'm only his pet when he's tutoring me, because he has two other people to annoy when I'm not around, and we all know who they are.

I'm pretty sure he's gay. No matter how times he claims to have gotten laid about a thousand times, I don't believe him. With him, I don't know what to believe. He's had two girlfriends, that's all I know (because, as I said, I don't stalk his life. He probably stalks mine, though. That's so Cartman) but I'm not sure if he actually liked them, or just wanted to get in their pants.

Anyway, as the end of the day draws nearer and nearer, I'm pretty worried. Worried about tonight – will it be awkward? Uncomfortable? Or will it just be the same, as if nothing ever happened?

No. I can still taste him. He tastes like really chocolaty chocolate. I bet I taste like tacos. Craig would probably taste like strawberries, but I don't know why. Strawberries and coffee might taste nice, so maybe he could go get gay with that little slut Tweek (who has winked at me a countless amount of times, the whore)...

Just a thought...

By lunch, I realize that I have hardly spoken all day. The only times I've spoken was to say I'm here to the teachers, or to answer a question I've been asked to answer (or picked on). I guess I'm just not in the mood.

I sat alone at lunch. I must have looked like a dickhead, of course, but my reputation might have been saved by all those girls checking me out. I know I'm hot, but they don't need to remind me.

The next few lessons are a blur to me, like they never happened, like a dream that you lose memory of as soon as you wake up. I vaguely remember what I did, vaguely remembering what I got on my last Music assessment. Grrr.

I dunno why I added the grrr, but I think that I should do it more often. It makes me sound angry, and I sound like a dinosaur. Or a dinosaur pirate. Fuck yes.

Nice combination. Clyde, I applaud you.

I'm on a roll today with all these combinations I'm coming up with.

X (o) X –

"Two positives equal a positive, and two negatives equal a negative. Understood?"

I'm not listening. "Can I ask you a question?"

Cartman glowers at me, pouting a little. "You just did, asshole."

I ignore him. "Why did you kiss me on Saturday?"

He stares at me for a while, not replying. From how he looks, I'm saying his heart's probably stopped, and he's thinking of a reasonable excuse to give me.

He's also discreetly biting his lip, and the look in his eyes are kinda...frightened. Genuinely frightened, if that's possible from such an evil bastard.

Yeah, I went there. I went there, bitch.

"Moving on...multiplying negatives and positives are _a lot _easier than adding and subtracting, the little bitches," he continues.

I'm frustrated right now.

"Don't change the subject!" I shout at him. He looks away from me, and from what little I can see of him, there are a few droplets of sweat on his forehead. Uh oh.

I probably shouldn't have asked about it; I've made him feel awful.

He may be Eric Cartman, but in his defence (what is with me always fucking defending the kid?) he does have feelings, a soul – even if it's just a thin, invisible one – and, most importantly, he does have a heart. And I've gone and tore them all apart.

I feel like an asshole.

"...Sorry," I quickly apologise, even though it's blatant he's not going to respond to me for a while. Woops. I really made a huge boo boo.

He nods at me, looking visibly sad, and continues to teach me.

And for once, I actually learn some useful information that won't go in through one ear and out the other in a matter of time.

X (o) X –

He's alone.

It's no surprise that Cartman's wandering the halls by himself, because deep down, he's still the evil monster he was back in fourth grade. He's progressed a little, but he is still up his own ass, manipulative, thick as shit and his temper's bad as it's always been.

Oh, and he's still the fatass we all hated.

Cartman's also never learned to deal with something; if we piss him off, he will get vengeance. Knowing how he can be when he wants revenge, I've tried to get on his good side, but I'm pretty sure I'm slipping onto his bad one.

I should learn to keep my big mouth shut sometimes, honestly.

"Cartman?" I call out to him. I catch his eye, and he slowly walks over to me, silently.

"Sorry 'bout what I said," I sound so guilty, like a child who's about to get told off after doing something really naughty, like finger-painting on the walls. I know the consequence to that, except I was twelve when I did it. And then I did it again...about a month ago.

"It's OK," he mutters. There's a little pain in his voice. I'm pretty sure he's gay. My gaydar – which isn't the best of them all – is ticking quietly in my head.

Or he could be bisexual...

"You don't sound OK," I inform him, and he looks up at me, frowning.

"I'm fine!" Cartman shoots back at me, eyes like daggers shooting towards me, but his voice is strained and only has the appearance of being angry – he doesn't sound as irate as he looks, in other words. "Just stop asking me, Clyde. Piss off."

"No," I retaliate. I'm putting my foot down. I've had enough of him now. I can't read this kid – I can't tell if he's lying or if he's telling the truth; his most trustworthy trait, he must think.

"Piss off," he repeats. "I'm not in the fucking mood."

I growl. OK, _now _I've had enough of him.

"Something's up, and you know it!" I bounce back. His hands are now fists, and he's pretty angry now.

"Just leave me alone!" His eyes are foggy, and full of frustrated tears. I should probably leave him alone for safe measures. I don't like chilli, nor do I like my parents in there.

He screams at me, a few tears angrily dripping, and he sounds pretty pissed. I surely can't have pissed him off _that _much...it's all too over exaggerated.

And now I feel horrible.

X (o) X –

I decide to stop by his house to see how he's getting on.

I've never been concerned for Cartman before, but something's seriously worrying him. I'm scared I'm the source of all this. I hate being the source. It's gay.

I ring on the doorbell. I wait for a few seconds. And nothing's happening.

Soon, I hear footsteps, but they're more like high heels. Last time I checked, Cartman doesn't wear high heels on a day to day basis. He wears them sometimes. Heard he cross dresses sometimes. If that's not gay, then I don't know what is.

Instead of Cartman usually opening the door, it's his mom instead, which means something's up, or – hopefully – he's just not home.

This kid is so freaking confusing, and my head hurts whenever I'm around him.

"Oh, hello there," she says sweetly as she opens the door. How can such a bully have such a nice mom? Why is she so tolerable towards her son? "Clyde, right?"

"Yeah," I simply reply, my hands in my pockets (fuck you Craig).

She twists her mouth, raising her eyebrows a teensy tiny bit. "Eric is...he's feeling a bit under the weather right at this moment. Is it urgent?"

I think. It's pretty urgent...I need to know if I've upset him, or made him feel uncomfortable. My life is so screwed up right now.

"Sorta," I shrug. "He seemed upset during school."

She nods. "Well, alright then. I'll see if he'll come downstairs. When he came home, he ran upstairs and slammed the door without a word. I figured something was wrong. Do you know what might be the matter?"

I need to lie. I shake my head. "No, Mrs. Cartman, I don't."

She 'hmms' for a moment. "Strange. Anyway, come on in Clyde, you must be freezing outside."

Yes, I am, thanks to Craig for stealing my mittens.

"Pretty much," I smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Cartman."

She calls up the stairs, but to no success. She frowns at me after calling for a third time.

I feel worse than before. I hate knowing I've upset people. It makes me want to cry, as does everything else, especially puppies. They're just so cute and fluffy, and I want to bury my head in them and let them lick my toes whilst I rub their cute little bellies.

Awww.

"Maybe you should go upstairs?" she suggests, and I nod.

I walk up the stairs and his door is partly opened – it's not locked, duh, so I walk on in. Without knocking. This could be a problem.

I tip toe in and see how he's lying on his bed, a pillow covering the whole of his face, his arms and legs spread out across the duvet.

"Dude, are you _sure _you're alright?" I ask in a whisper, and he throws the pillow onto the floor. His hair looks a mess and he seems a lot more unhappy than he usually is – he was so happy on Saturday, and I just had to come along and fuck him up.

"Thanks for knocking, asshole," he sarcastically remarks, rolling his eyes. They're red, and it's evident that he's been...crying...

There's dents on the wall...he's been punching...crying...

_Because of me...I did that...Clyde Donovan did this._

"Dude, you don't know how sorry I am for asking you why," I seriously mean it. I don't mean to hurt or offend him, even though I honestly can't remember if I did anything too wrong. "But I just need you to know that I care."

It sounds so gay. Right now, I don't care how slushy or gay I sound. I just need to know he's alright and he's telling the truth when he says he's fine.

I feel so bad.

He scoffs in a simple reply. "You're so gay, Clyde." He cracks a smile, and on impulse, I smile back. "And dude, honestly, don't worry. About me, that is."

I bite my lip. "I've been on your side since pretty much third grade, I know how you feel."

He raises an eyebrow, curious. "What do you mean?"

Of course. Cartman was in juvi when I found out what it felt to be in his position. It drove me to insanity, so maybe it's why he's so insane and mentally unstable...it could be the problem to everything...so many questions I want answers to. When Clyde Donovan wants answers, he wants answers and he wants them immediately.

"I mean that I know what it's like to be called fat twenty four seven," I whisper. He's still pretty offended by 'fat', and he's still in denial towards his weight. "I'm the second fattest kid in South Park, you know that, right?"

He eyes me up and down; I find myself blushing. "You?"

I nod, unable to reply through words.

"And who's the first?"

He's so cutely stupid sometimes, but I don't want to hurt his ego anymore than I probably have.

"You, you dumbass."

He shoots me a hurtful look beyond his forced, small smile. I smile back to show I'm only half joking.

"That's why I hugged you when you got back," I must sound so fucking gay. I do. I know I do. "I felt...relieved that I wasn't gonna get ripped on as much as you do."

He doesn't reply, only smiles. "Dude..."

"It's why I get so defensive over you," I continue. This isn't like me. It's so unClyde-like. Unreal. "I've been in your shoes. And that's why I want to apologise for everything."

I don't know what the hell I've done, but he's rolling with it.

"So you don't hate me?" He sounds vulnerable, weak. And I didn't know that was possible.

I shake my head. "I've fought my ass off for you."

He sits up now, and scoots over. Silently, he pats the bed, and I hesitantly clamber on, sitting next to him. Our equally fat legs are overlapping each others, and although it does feel a bit awkward sitting this close to a guy, I'm pretty comfortable. He's so warm.

And cuddly, he's like a teddy bear, basically. He's adorable to me.

He leans in closer, and I'm not sure what he's doing (being the dumbass that I am).

Until he kisses me on the lips. It was sweeter, less rough, and was only for a few split seconds so I never got the chance to react to it.

"What was that for?" I whisper, trying hard not to sound offended.

"To say thanks," he smiles back. He's acting so unCartman-like. So I'm seriously worried for him.

"Can I ask you a question, and hope you don't get offended?" I ask, smiling, and rubbing one of his fat fingers to earn his trust.

"You just did, asshole," he repeats. Mega déjà vu. "Anyway, shoot."

"...Are you gay?" I bite my lip, and I can see he's shaking a little. Not a lot, but a tiny bit, and it's only visible to those really observing him – WHICH I'M NOT DOING. I'm being honest! Seriously!

"Does it matter if I am or not?" he replies, and I look at him to show I won't tell if he is. I've defended this guy for years now and I'm not turning my back on him now.

"Course not," I smile back.

"Then..." he sighs. "I think that I might be."

I look at him, my mouth open just a tad. I'm a bit surprised to see that he's warmed up to me and trusts me.

I'm just about to ask another question before he continues.

"I dunno, dude, I don't feel like one, but girls...they don't seem right," he continues. I nod, indicating I am listening, even though knowing me I will be in outer space in a matter of seconds. "I mean, pussies good"-there's that smirk again- "but there's someone I like. And I don't know how. Clyde?"

I manage to stop myself from zoning out by looking straight up at him.

"Do you think that, if you like someone a lot who's the same sex as you, you're gay?" He's asking truthfully. I don't know how to answer that. I've never been the best at advice. Kenny once came to me for advice on how to ask a girl out and, needless to mention, it didn't work. My advice totally backfired, and let's just say that Kenny hasn't had a proper, loving relationship in a while because of it.

"I dunno," I shrug. He narrows his eyes at me, but I'm only being honest. "Dude, don't ask me."

He smiles at me; I smile back. There's nothing else I can do; nothing else I can say. I should probably go home.

Before I can, however, I feel his arm slide around my shoulders, and he pulls me closer to him. I can feel him breathing on my cheek, and it's tickling me so much that I start to giggle loudly.

"What's so funny?" he asks, another weird look directed straight at me.

I'm still giggling, trying to contain myself. "Your tickling me."

He giggles a tiny bit. I move in closer, so comfortable in his arms, so comfortable with his warmth.

I rest my head on his shoulder, and I stay there for a while.

"Don't worry," I mutter. "Your secret's safe with me."

**A/N: Aww :3 the Cartyde is almost there! Of course, I had to mention Cartman's Silly Hate Crime. It's true how Clyde is the one who knows how Cartman is treated so he probably stands up for him a lot more and probably doesn't hate him, so that's why this pairing is just so perfect :D**

**I don't know how long this story is gonna be, but there's still gay little Craig to cover. He'll probably end up with Tweek because as Clyde said, strawberries and coffee must be a good combination. And I like Creek.**

**I love weak, vulnerable Cartman. He has got a heart, ya know? He needs love! He might be a little OOC, but Cartman is one of the hardest characters to write. You gotta understand that evil, egotistical little mind of his :) **

**Long A/N I know, but there's a lot to cover...the whole Tweek being a slut thing is mentioned in chapter four – I THINK! DON'T QUOTE ME! If you don't get the whole winking at everyone thing, it's basically because when he twitches, one eye closes, and Clyde says it's a flirtatious wink in this story. If that caused any confusion, I hope I cleared it up! 3**

**Again, thanks for the reviews, it's such a fun story to write! I need to move onto the action a lot more so many of Clyde's random statements have to be taken out so we can focus on the story. He's getting harder and harder to write, I tell you.**

**Thanks for reading :3**


	8. I Can't Lie

**A/N: Not much to cover...haven't updated in a while, writer's block, schoolwork, blah blah blah. But I've got it now. Thanks for the lovely reviewing, and also to those who put this in their favourites and/or put this on alert. I love you. :)**

_Chapter Eight – I Can't Lie_

I just saw Craig and Tweek hug amorously.

Yeah, that's right, biatch. I just said amorously. My vocabulary is slowly growing.

Oh, I need to talk to Craig. Not Tweek. He's a slut, blurgh.

So when Tweek finally leaves – seeming strangely calmer than usual, probably high on Ritalin or starved of coffee or something – I slowly walk over to Craig, who I pray will stay in that spot.

He does. He pulls out his phone, checks it, then flips the lid back down, and finally notices me.

Craig manages a smile. I forgot what I was gonna say.

Thinking of something fast, I suddenly say: "Oi, Craig. Gimme my fucking mittens."

He smirks at me. It's a very sexy smirk, I must admit. Do all gay people have sexy smirks? Cartman's smirk is very sexy too...this is all too coincidental. Conspiracy? I think yes.

"What's the magic word?" he teases.

"Abracadabra," I tease back, and he rolls his eyes. "Now gimme my mittens. I'm freezing my hands off."

OMG! What if I had frozen my hands off? Would they bleed? Could I sue Craig for stealing my mittens, my only protection from freezing my hands off? Could I possibly get my yacht back from that one time where everyone sued everyone for sexual harassment? I lost my yacht, and I want it back. That would be so killer.

"Fine, fine," he retorts in his usual monotone. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls them out. Like a wolf that's seen some prey, I pounce and grab them, looking a bit over-enthusiastic, but Craig doesn't question it. He's used to my reactions by now.

I quickly put them on my hands, and whilst I do, Craig continues to talk to me.

"Anything else you want?" he's got a 'leave me alone' look on his face, but I play dumb and pretend not to notice it.

"No," I bluntly reply, before I suddenly realize. He's about to turn away before I grab at his jacket (which I have, in turn, stolen on several occasions...) and pull him back. "Yeah, there is. The science project. Have you forgotten about it?"

He 'hmms'. Craig mocks being deep in thought, tapping a finger on his chin. "Yeah."

I narrow my eyes and pout. Even I remembered that we have a science project we have to make. I'm not even gonna mention Cartman helping us, cuz he won't do it. He has nothing to worry about, lucky bastard. Grrr.

And yes, that grrr was for dramatic purposes. To be a dinosaur pirate-Clyde. Yeeeaah.

I've been a pirate once but definitely not a dinosaur. I've been a mosquito, however. Weirdest. Days. Of. My. Life. EVER.

Craig looks at my face. "Don't worry, Clyde. We'll do something."

I raise an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Again, he thinks for a few moments. "I dunno. A volcano? That's pretty easy."

I blink, and I somehow remember vaguely what the project had to be about. "No, dumbass, it has to be about chemical reactions."

He sighs. "You're the dumbass. Volcanoes do too involve chemical reactions! You know, the erupting. Two chemicals reacting and making it 'erupt'?"

Craig's talking too scientifically and logically for someone like me to understand, but I nod to make it look like I share the smarts. He might have been taking tips from Kyle again, but hey, sometimes it's good to have a smarty-pants in our group.

"Fine," I sigh. Then I remember there's one more thing. "Saw you with Tweek earlier."

He smirks, but only slightly, so it loses the sexiness it once bared. Bears are scary. When I saw one at this zoo place, I was like AAAGH and it roared at me and I was like AAAGH and it roared again at me again and I was like AAAGH all the way home. The end.

"Yeah," he says, still smirking. "We're goin' out now."

Ha. I knew that my uber awesome combination of strawberries and coffee would eventually turn out to be. I'm so smart? And I'm so cool that I put a question mark at the end instead of a boring full stop. Look at it. Smart little asshole.

Exclamation points are cool! La la la la. Anyways...

"So you're not after my hot ass then, huh?"

I'm only half-joking.

"Not when I have Tweek's hot ass," he gives me a flirtatious wink, basically resembling Tweek's. He's such a little slut. I just want to strangle the coffee addict.

"Did you like me?" I'm being serious but he's probably taking it as a joke. No one takes me seriously. I'm like...Al Gore. I believe in ManBearPig, though. Bitch stole my tacos.

Sadface.

"Partly," I'm not sure if he's the one being serious now, but the look in his eyes is all I need. "But, hey, I got introduced to Tweek without having to fight the kid, so all's good." He shrugs.

I smile at his reference to that one time where Kyle and Stan and Kenny and – of course – Cartman were forcing Tweek and Craig to fight. I got a lot of money out of that. I wasted a lot of time making stupid brochures. But I got money. Twenty five dollars. Fuck yes, baby.

I bought shit loads of Chinpokomon with that several months later. Yeah bitch, I saved money. I coulda bought fuck loads of tacos with that to last a good few years, but I didn't. I'm going way off topic now, but hey, it's all for the lulz. And I am so full of lulz I probably could spontaneously combust right now.

I'm just happy that one problem's out of the way.

X (o) X –

Ah, fuck. I totally forgot.

It's Wednesday, so this means tonight I have another tutoring session. I actually spent most of my sleepless night studying, just to be careful. I hate getting slapped by rulers. They hurt. A whole lot.

I'm tired because of it, I can't lie. Even if one problem's over and done with, there's still the whole Cartman issue. I finally can ignore Craig, and especially now since I have my freakin' mittens back and I don't have to keep pestering him about them.

I haven't seen him in class all day, but I know he's at school – I vaguely saw him at lunch (which isn't all too surprising and, hey – today was taco day which did manage to boost some enthusiasm and energy into me) and walking in the halls – I even saw him in the bathroom at one point. During a free period, I think.

Probably skipping class, but I'm not entirely sure. I don't stalk this kid's life, nor am I willing to anytime soon.

Just as my last lesson is about to end – about ten or five minutes left at most – I feel my phone buzz. It's only a text, and luckily the teacher's too busy rambling on to notice it. I pull it out, hiding it under the desk.

It's only then I realize that I haven't really paid much attention to my phone because of my three missed calls – Craig evidently, and my mom being one of them, sigh – and four new messages. One from Token about God knows what, two from Craig asking why I'm not 'fucking answering my phone', and a new one that was from Cartman, which I was kinda hoping for.

_Clyde...dw, been skipping, cuz i'm so fuckin baddas n u no it. Still tutorin u btw. Dumbbas. Lol? K, yh, meet me bye my car. Ill b their waitin 4 u. I cbf 2 wolk. C u._

I re-read the badly spelt text message, trying to finally make sense of it. It takes me a few moments but I get what he's saying in the end.

I don't bother texting back in fear of getting caught. I can't get detention today. I get it too fucking much, normally cuz of Craig being a total dick and getting me into trouble.

Finally, after what seems like a freakin' lifetime, the bell finally rings. I'm the first one out of my seat and I run to the door. I'm pretty sure I left my one and only pen on the table, but hey, I'll find another one or steal one off of Butters' again.

I kinda feel sorry for the pencil – it had a name (Craig named it 'Craig', how imaginative) and I even gave it a face but hey, I gotta meet Cartman by his car or else.

Or else what? Exactly.

Pencils really don't matter in a time like this.

X (o) X –

It's raining slightly, only little spits, but it's guaranteed to get way worse and turn into a heavy downpour. The weather in South Park is so unpredictable. One moment it's snowing, and the next minute it's...snowing. Oh. OK, forget I said that. Erase it. Now.

I finally meet Cartman standing outside his car, smoking. I didn't know he smoked but – I've said it once and I hope I won't have to say it again – I DON'T STALK THE KID'S LIFE.

"What took you so long?" he says before going back to the cigarette. He's wearing a thick black coat with the hood up, even though the rain isn't all too heavy.

I seriously don't get this kid, no matter how many times I've defended him, and no matter how many times I say I know what he goes through – which is true.

Besides, he's got enough fat on him to last a blizzard. In all fairness, so do I, but he could probably last about over 9000 blizzards. Bitch.

"Class," I bluntly reply, giving him a 'duh' look.

He rolls his eyes and throws the cigarette butt onto the floor, stamping on it. He opens the driver seat door and gets in without a further word, and I do the same.

"I didn't know you smoke," I say to him, and he looks at me, his hands gripping the steering wheel, even though he hasn't even turned the ignition on yet.

"Clyde, look, stop perving on my life," he sounds pissed off. Probably a long, confusing day. "I don't perv on yours, so shh." He turns the ignition on finally, and focuses on the mirror.

"I didn't mean to," I lamely mutter. "Sorry?"

He glances at me. "Thought so, Clyde."

I look down at my lap, fidgeting with my fingers, something I do when I'm stressed. I don't feel stressed, but after all, I have gone through a lot over the past few weeks.

He reverses out, and suddenly he realizes his hood is still up. Without a word, he takes it down, and I can't help but notice how his hair is wet. Of course, I haven't been out all day, so it probably has been raining pretty heavily. Probably why he's got this coat on.

Cartman shakes his head manically, dripping onto me, and I look up at him. He slowly runs his fingers through his messy brown hair, and I smirk as I watch him. He finally catches my eye.

"What you looking at, fag?" he asks, his fingers still tangled up in his hair. "I know I'm sexy and all, but you don't have to stare at me, Clyde."

I hate the way he pronounces my name. It's like, Clyyyyde. Heh. His accent's cute – yes, cute, sue me (actually don't, I have no money, and no one's touching my tacos) – but it's also annoying. Really, really annoying.

"Sorry," I apologise, and he pouts at me.

We're finally out of the school premises. He doesn't ask about my day or anything, only turning the radio on, to make this awkward silence a little less awkward.

I zone out, something I do when I'm not really doing anything, or when I'm really bored. My attention span is so short that a midget is its only competition.

"Wanna smoke?"

The sudden talking scares me a little, and I look at him. Cartman's holding a packet of cigarettes in his hand, and I hesitantly shake my head.

"I don't smoke," I say, and he raises an eyebrow interestingly.

He scoffs at me. "Pfft. You're not as cool as you make yourself out to be, Clyde."

I think of something witty. "Pfft. You _won't _be as cool as you make yourself out to be when you die, _Cartman_."

He doesn't reply. I don't think he cares. As long as it does his reputation some good, then he's up for it. He's such an attention seeker that he'd probably commit suicide, just so people would talk about him. It's kinda...pathetic, really. And so...emo.

So very emo.

Within a few seconds, Cartman's smoking and driving, which is probably gonna to get us _both _killed. I don't want to die with him. That'd suck.

Luckily, we reach his house within quarter of an hour, and we didn't die. Yet.

X (o) X –

"Clyde, pay attention. You need to learn this."

I've fallen asleep. Fuck.

I can't wake up. Double fuck.

"Clyde, don't make me bitch slap you with this ruler."

I'm awake.

"I stayed up last night," I explain. "Studying."

He laughs. "You? Study? You've _got _to be shitting me."

I frown at this. "No, I'm not shitting you. Unlike you, I do want to get good grades."

Cartman laughs again, and I continue to frown at him. He's actually pissing me off now, which is almost an unlikely task – if that makes any sense. "You won't get good grades if you don't let me teach you, and if you don't shut the fuck up."

I press my lips together, almost afraid to say anything else. I seriously don't want to mess with Cartman. I know the consequences. He may be all talk after all, but he did beat me up this one time. For no reason. Then he hugs me all the time. Then he kisses me. Twice. This kid is so fucking confusing, ugh.

He's hurting my head, owie.

"_You _shut the fuck up!" I spit back. He stares at me, speechless. "Yeah, bitch, that's right."

Expectedly, I get hit by a ruler, and although it hurts, I don't show it.

"Don't you fucking dare argue with me," he shoots back, getting too close to my face, and I start to feel uncomfortable. I can feel the anger bubbling inside of him and all my focus is somehow on him, not unicorns, not donkeys, not how awesome I am, not tacos...I'm concentrating on Cartman, and only Cartman.

I don't bounce back. I'm too tired for all of this. I let him carry on, the only times where I speak is to answer a question.

Sighing, he turns to me. "We're done for today. Go home."

He points to the door, and I look at it. "Wait."

Cartman looks at me, looking a bit agitated and annoyed at me for refusing to leave.

"I'm not leaving until I get some goddamn answers. And I want the truth this time."

He looks at me, agape. His eyes then seem to dart around the room, making up some excuse. There isn't one. I'm asking for answers; I'm pleading for the truth.

"Shoot."

**A/N: Cliff-hanger, bitches.**

**I don't think I've mentioned this before but the chapters are named after songs. They're just ambiguous to which ones. Two of them are from Maroon 5's new album...which is like my favourite band...so yeah. **

**See you later, yeah...I'll probably be annoying and not update for ages. Muahaha. **


	9. A Twist In My Story

**A/N: What is this, you say? I've actually updated in less than a week? Gasp! Haha, so yeah, I can't stand cliff-hangers either. So...um, I don't know what's happening next, so I'm gonna be just as willing as you guys. I think we're near to the ending – another chapter or so – and I'm contemplating a sequel, whatcha think? I've got a rough idea. OK, I'll shh now. On with the story...**

_Chapter Nine – A Twist In My Story_

"_I'm not leaving until I get some goddamn answers. And I want the truth this time."_

"_Shoot."_

X (o) X –

I honestly have no idea what just occured.

I can't describe anything right now. I feel weak.

It was like...mush. Cartman took words and manipulated them into sentences, but they ended up like melted ice cream. I don't know whether it's bullshit or not.

I should probably explain what the fuck just happened...if I can.

My brain's just exploded, all over my lovely floor, all covered in brain juice, and it's not a pretty sight, believe me.

_Flashback –_

"_Why do you kiss me?"_

_He gazed at me for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Why must it matter?"_

_I frowned. He was being stubborn then; refusing to answer. _

"_Believe me, Cartman, it matters."_

_I looked so scary, like that scary kid back in third grade that was like, from the seventh layer of Hell, or somewhere gay like that. _

_I waited for an answer. I waited for the truth, and I wasn't getting it. In all truth, I was getting desperate, and I started to wish I had stalked this kid's life._

"_I don't see how it ma-"_

_I cut him off by pushing him against the wall, giving him a taste of his own medicine (almost literally) as I pressed my lips against his as forcefully as I could. It wasn't long before he responded to the kiss and, although I totally hated myself for it, he pulled himself closer to me and deepened it. His arms were now wrapped firmly around me, and he was...enjoying it. Cartman was enjoying this, I knew it. _

_I'm not entirely sure if that's what I wanted. Did I want Cartman to enjoy it? Was I enjoying this? Am I really beating him at his own game?_

_I was the one who broke the kiss, the one to pull away. He stared at me retardely, dumbfounded, a look closely resembling me. Cartman was still gripping me, clutching me tightly, refusing to let go. _

"_What was that for?" his voice came out weak, almost like a cracked whisper. _

_To be honest, I didn't know. Something about him was, and still is, kissable. He probably feels the same about me. I'm easy to rape, easily molestable, and he's easily kissable. Cartman's probably the most confusing kid I've ever met but, hey, I never said I hated him. As much as everyone else does, anyway._

"_Probably for the same reason you do it," I answered matter-of-factly. I even gave him one of his own signature smirks. I must have looked like a total rapist, but I couldn't have cared less at that moment in time._

_I waited for him to reply, if he had anything to respond with, that is. He didn't, so I added more onto my previous statement._

"_Which is..."_

_I saw a glint of fear in his eyes. "Because, Clyde...if you must know, I think it's you who's the fag here."_

_I knew what he was doing. Trying to use reverse physcology on me – at least, I think that's what he did to me. Turning it around, twisting the story to make it seem like I'm the gaywad, and he's the innocent dumbass I mouth rape. Typical Cartman – I knew he'd never change, but I still defended him._

"_Wha?"_

_He smirks at me. "Yes, Clyde. You're the fag. Pushing me against the wall, kissing me with such force. If that doesn't make you a fag, then I don't know what does."_

_By then, he was getting on my last nerve, even though he was highly convincing me I was indeed the fag. He has that power over me. Does he have that sort of control over everyone? Were people now taking offence to his words rather than laughing at his ignorant stupidity? Oh man, so many questions..._

_End of flashback_

It's three thirty am; I can't sleep.

Instead of dreaming of the usual things boys my age dream about (you know, lemonade, cookies, tacos, people raping you whilst you visit Candyland and ride many, many unicorns at once because you're just that cool), I'd been having flashbacks. Flashbacks of what happened. I've just woken up – I didn't meant to; it wasn't my intentention, honestly – and my flashback ended there.

For some reason, I find myself picking up my phone and texting Cartman. Most likely he's awake, or something of the sort.

_Dude...u awake?_

I wait patiently for a reply, fidgeting with the buttons as I wait. I know I'm pretty stupid for waiting for a text at three...thirty three in the morning, but I really need to speak to him.

About two minutes of waiting (which was torture, I say. Torture!) I get a reply from him.

_I am now, asshole._

I roll my tired eyes and quickly think of something to respond with.

_Asshole? Is that anyway to treat ur lover? ;)_

I'm teasing him, I'm pissing him off, and it's never been funnier.

I get a reply in a matter of minutes, but it's not a long one, and that's where the conversation ends.

_Shut up._

I giggle, put my phone on the bedside table, and attempt to go to sleep.

_Flashback - _

"_How am I the fag? You're the one that kissed me back. The one that wrapped his fat fucking arms around me!" I practically yelled at him, and he stared at me, mouth agape, looking like...I don't know a simile to put here, forgive me for that._

_Seeing as he didn't reply, I continued. "Why do you always fucking kiss me? Why are you such a big pussy to not admit that you do? I'm pretty sure you're mistaken here. You're the fag, not me, Cartman."_

_It was the sort of childish argument Craig and I would have. But this one was serious. It had a purpose, and although it seemed immature, it wasn't._

_At least, I don't think I was..._

"_Don't fucking call me a fag!" Cartman hissed back at me. "After that gay little stunt, I'm sure your little boyfriend will love to hear about our little affair..."_

_I had no idea what he's saying, but I made sure I didn't show it._

_If that's possible, with me being Clyde, and all. The class retard._

_But a hot one, at that._

"_Boyfriend?" I asked ignorantly, and he smirked at me again._

"_Craig, you dumbshit," he rolled his eyes. "You told me Craig was gay. You told me he had feelings for you. I know for a fact that deep down inside, you're also a fag."_

_It was true – I had told him Craig was gay, and by then I was regretting telling him._

"_I'm not..." I weakly said back to him, barely making eye contact with him. He's hard not to miss, but still, it was a nice attempt..._

"_Oh, Clyde, I think that you are," he hissed. Cartman's scary sometimes, even if he's only teasing. "Why else would you kiss me like that? With such great pas-"_

_I let out a loud scream, and I pounce at him. I don't like the kid so much now._

"_Clyde, are you purposely trying to damage my ears or was that a pathetic Mariah Carey attempt?"_

_His shit eating grin was highly visible; his joke was just as pathetic as he is._

"_Just fucking answer my question," I spat at him. Because I had pounced on him, I was on top of him as he lay on the bedroom floor, my hands gripping his jacket. "Why do you kiss me? Are you gay for me, yay or nay?"_

"_Nay!" he whimpered, but I'm still not sure if I had hurt him or not. Or if he was scared. This kid had such obscure feelings, and he was such a good actor...a bully or not, I had to respect the kid in getting whatever the hell he wanted._

"_I think you're lying," I hissed in his ear, and he whimpered again, for a reason I would never know. "Just say yay, and we'll get this over and done with. I promise not to tell anyone."_

_I stuck my pinky finger out at him, and as he gasped for air, I watched as he struggled to find the words – or word._

"_Yay."_

_I smiled, satisfied by my work. Nice investigating there, Clyde. I'm so amazing._

_And with that, I let him breathe as our pinkies interlocked with each other's._

_End of flashback_

"Hello, Mrs. Tucker, is Craig home?"

I'm standing on the doorstep of the Tucker household, no longer freezing because of my trusty mittens I finally got back from the dickhead I called my friend.

His mom answered the door, not him, the lazy shit. He's probably still in his underwear, upstairs, in his room, playing video games. Or cybering that slut Tweek. Yeah, that's the most likely thing he's doing. On webcam, because that makes it more...I don't know the word...but I know what I mean. Yeah.

"Yes, he is, Clyde," she smiles at me. "In his room. He hasn't bothered to get dressed all afternoon." Figures. I nod at enter the house just as she moves out the way to let me pass, and I walk up the stairs.

After years of coming here and perving on Craig, I know where his bedroom is, and I walk in. Haha, he left the door unlocked. Bad move, Craig, bad move.

"Die, zombie, die! Yeah, biatch, I pwned you hard. Yeah. Oh my God, did you just kill me? What the fuck is this?" Craig threw his controller on the floor, cursing because his character just died. I knew he would be here playing video games, but instead of just his boxers, he's in his pyjamas – which isn't all too much better.

"Craig?" I call, wondering if he's even noticed my existence yet. I knock on the door before he can yell at me for not doing, and I close the door behind me, leaving it open just a crack.

Craig turns to me, picking the controller back up off the floor. It was a nice floor, but it would have been nicer if there weren't so many mismatching, pink and yellow socks covering it. Or jigsaw puzzles. Or plates. Or empty pizza boxes from, like, two weeks ago.

There was even an autographed picture of Token on the floor. God knows why, but I'm guessing Craig really likes Token and his amazing singing.

Which isn't nearly as amazing as my la la la.

"Hey, Clyde," he lamely says to me. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

I scratch my head in confusion. "Humble abode? Anyway...there's a lot of shit I gotta tell you."

Craig looks up at me, showing me a look of interest and curiousness. "About who? Cartman?"

It's like he read my mind, which would be cool. He'd make a lot of money out of reading minds, and maybe he can talk to dead people too...well, this _is _Craig Tucker we're talking about. Craig, the leader of a great prophecy involving both Peruvian flute bands and guinea pigs. It doesn't get any epicer than that. He's my fucking idol sometimes.

I nod. "Yep. Turns out that he's totally gay for me."

Craig raises both of his eyebrows, which is a surprise, because all people seem to do in this story is roll their eyes, or raise their eyebrows, or have awkward silences. Betcha never saw that coming, bitch.

"No way?" he squeals, his gayness shining. "How the hell did you find _that _out?"

I don't really want to tell him. "Force," I simply reply, smirking a little to myself, fully aware I can still taste him. Cartman, that is, not Craig, cuz I haven't kissed him. Yet.

I add the yet for emphasis.

He shrugs a little. "Oh man, this is hilarious shit" – he's not laughing, he's talking in monotone, so how he finds this hilarious, I do not know – "we have to tell _everyone._"

_Everyone? _Wait, what...

"...Why?" I ask innocently. I don't want to exploit his secret...I didn't tell anyone Craig's gay. Apart from Cartman. Of course, people know now because of his all too open relationship with Tweek (that fucking coffee addicted, twitchy slut) but still...

"Did you not hear me?" he squeals again. "This is hilarious as fuck. Cartman...gay? For you? Dude, did you miss how fucking funny this all is?"

I roll my eyes (see?) and fold my arms. "Apparently, yeah, I did."

Craig gives me a weird look. "How do you not find it funny that Cartman – Eric Cartman – that fatass we all hated back in fourth grade, and the majority of us still do – is gay for you? I always thought he was gay for Butters, maybe even Kyle, but man..."

I narrow my eyes. I change the tone of my voice. I have a serious face.

"Because I feel the same way."

**A/N: What is this, you say? A cliff-hanger? YOU BITCH. Haha. I didn't know it'd end up like this, seriously, I didn't...the majority of this is flashback, which I don't know if it was intended or not... :/ I hope this chapter wasn't all too sucky. It'll get better. I promise. I'm getting lazy, but I do kinda like the Mariah Carey reference. I don't know why, but it made me chuckle, so yeah...come back next time and it'll be even better. No promises, but yeah. Maybe I'll be nice and get the next chapter done by tomorrow. Well, seeya. Remember to review – it makes my day, honestly, I'm not lying, and if you think I am, then you suck. Kthnxbye. **


	10. Fall For You

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated as quick as I promised – I'm real sorry, honestly, I lied to you, forgive me? :'( I've had a shit week, quite frankly, dealing with this personal family issue and a friendship issue too. A lot to deal with, basically. But hey ho, this keeps me happy. Ugh, I'm so emo . Enough about my problems, let's go back to Clyde and his story. I've forgotten what happens in this story. Woops.**

_Chapter Ten – Fall For You_

Finger-paints.

They're fun. Like, really fun.

I'm in the middle of drawing God knows what – a masterpiece being the appropriate name for it – when my cell phone starts to buzz, eventually making its way off the table, hitting the floor with a thud.

I pick it up, even though right now, I'm not sure if I want to talk to anyone.

It's been a few days since coming out – not literally coming out, because that'd be a lie and lying makes you sterile according to Mr. Garrison – to Craig, who just happens to be the one calling me. How fortunate.

Not how I want to spend my Saturday afternoons – I'd much rather be finger-painting, which I was totally in the middle of before being rudely interrupted.

I didn't go to Cartman's this morning – he said he 'couldn't be fucked to care for me'. Instead, I spent an additional hour and a half at his house on Friday. Strangely, none of it ended up in hot make out seshes, not even little pecks, and it certainly didn't eventually turn into a big, gay rough buttsex session.

"Craig, what's up?" I say as casually as I possibly can.

"Cut the crap," he literally yells down the phone, making me jump, and I don't like his tone. Yee-owch. Oh my God, that sounds like a cat. I want a cat. I want a big cat though that I can ride, because mom said ponies are too expensive, and unicorns aren't real. Pfft. Unicorns are _so _real. Why else would they appear in my dreams every night? Yeah, answer that, bitch. "Is something up with you?"

I'm a little taken aback, whatever the hell that means. "Craig? What are you saying?"

He lets out an easily audible sigh. "I'm saying that you've been ignoring me the past few days."

Have I? Oh God...I seriously didn't know...I've been so preoccupied...with everything...adding dot dot dot for emphasis...to keep this going...I'll shut up now.

"I have?" I ask, and I'm so freaking confused right now.

"Yes, Clyde, you _have_," he responds matter-of-factly. Craig hardly ever uses that tone. With anyone. "Ignoring everyone, actually, if you didn't know."

...Is he seriously? Oh shit, I've been hanging with Cartman for too damn long. Probably the reason I've been ignoring him, mostly Craig, and he's starting to take offence. Probably. Maybe.

"I am?" I ask, and I must sound like an idiot. Which I am.

"Yes, Clyde, you are," he sighs again. "I know you don't know that but you haven't been speaking for the past few days. Is it me?"

I shake my head, even though it's obvious he's not able to see it, so it's about as pointless as the white crayon (which, I think, deserves a better purpose). "Um...no, it's not, Craig. Don't worry, honestly..."

I know Craig doesn't believe me, but I'm not sure if Craig _is _the actual problem. It's probably Cartman. Gah! I don't know right now!

"Is it Cartman, then?"

God fucking dammit.

I sigh. And he reads my mind – which is so uber cool that I think I might explode.

"So it is?"

I furrow my eyebrows in both shock and pissy-offed-ness. "Shut up, Craig."

I can practically picture the smirk on his face right now. However, there's silence, and silence worries me. It's very loud. Silence is loud in my world. Very loud. Hmm.

After the silence, he stifles a laugh. "So, how you gonna handle this man crush then?"

I twist the phone cord – totally gay. "Um...I dunno. I'll think of something."

"Right," he remarks sarcastically. "You'll _think _of something. Sure you will, Clyde."

Haha, he's so funny. "Yeah. I will – you'll see, Craig. Now shh, I'm finger-painting. I hang up before he can reply, and I sigh.

Hi, I'm Clyde Donovan, and my life is kinda messed up right now, and I want to focus on finger-painting.

X (o) X –

Mondays – the day of the devil, I swear of it.

Ask Damien. He told me that his dad – Satan - really loves Mondays so he punishes us and makes them hell for us. I don't know how this links, but Damien said it, and Damien scares the living shit out of me.

So, I decide to either not show up at school, or skip some classes. I choose to skip the classes.

Here I am; hiding in a bush in the car park, scared someone will probably find me. They will find me. I feel like I'm hiding from the police, or something. I just really hate Mondays, is all.

Because I'm doing nothing, I've zoned out, and everything's a blur. That nice looking car over there? It's a blur. That tree with no leaves on it? It's a blur.

That kid standing in front of me? He's a bl-wait, someone found me?

No, that's impossible, now I'm confused, and I'm so confused that I might die. Which is no good.

But my death will probably be a blur because everything is just a blur right now, if this makes sense, which it probably doesn't.

So yeah, basically, some kid is standing in front of me, and upon looking up to see his face, I instantly recognize him and it's Kenny.

"You skipping?" he bluntly asks and I just nod in response.

He takes a seat next to me and pulls out a packet of cigarettes.

"You smoke, right?" Kenny asks, pushing the cigarettes in my direction. He said the words like he was certain they were an undeniable fact.

I shake my head. "No, I don't."

Kenny nods and lights up his own cigarette. He inhales it before exhaling, inhaling then exhaling, so on and so forth.

"So, why you skipping?" Kenny asks me, and I just look at him. I don't know the exact reason why – I just know I'm skipping, but there's no excuse for it.

Which gets me into deeper shit.

"You know," I begin, laughing nervously. "Mondays. They suck ass."

Kenny nods in agreement. "Yeah, they do. I'm skipping because, quite frankly, school is shit and I can't be assed with it all. It's so...gay."

I laugh, but I'm not really listening. The smoke is sending me into some sort of daydream. "Yep."

We sit in awkward silence as he threw the cigarette on the floor, watching it carefully as it gradually went out.

Kenny coughs to break the silence, or at least make it less awkward. He's not helping.

Without thinking, I pull out a textbook, and he eyes me weirdly.

"Dude, why are you reading _that_?" he points to the book.

"Because I need to get some education," I mutter absent-mindedly.

Kenny giggles and nods. "Guess that's right. You're dumb as fuck."

I raise an eyebrow at him and refuse to reply. I liked it when we were nine, he wore a parka, and no one understood a fucking word that came out of the pervert's mouth.

Oh, how I miss those days.

"The fuck is this? A gay party?"

I recognise that voice – anyone could, it's not hard. I look up, as does Kenny, and we're facing Cartman, who doesn't make me as scared anymore.

Instead, he makes me want to punch someone. But I don't want to punch Kenny, he might get hurt, and he might die, and I will cry so hard that I'll die too. The end.

"Yes, Cartman, it is a gay party," Kenny answers sarcastically yet matter-of-factly. "Care to join us?"

Without speaking, Cartman sits down to join us, an eyebrow raised, as if he was joining a gay party. To be honest, it is pretty gay, but it's silent so it's hardly a party. I am so smart.

Besides, there's no punch, and there's definitely no pie, which is pissing me off right now.

When I go to parties, I expect punch and I expect pie. And tacos. And lightsabers. Why? Because they're cool. Kevin got me into them. Kevin's pretty cool, but he doesn't like me. Ever since I pretty much invaded his basement and built my own swimming pool there that only I can use, he's been pretty pissed with me. Well it's not my fault he doesn't have a pool that I can dive into when we throw secret parties at his house.

Let's face it – Kevin Stoley's house is the shit.

Cartman's sitting unbelievably close to me. So close that I can pretty much feel his warm breath on my neck. He has a nice breathing pattern. It's like, _breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, and repeat. _I'd do it like that, but sometimes I forget how to breathe, and I usually find myself choking in class. Because I forgot how to breathe.

It's possible; trust me.

"You skipping?" I ask him, doing anything to break the uncomfortableness. It's really annoying me now, and the silence hurts, boo hoo.

"What's it look like, dumbass?" Cartman practically yells at me. "Kenny, got any cigarettes?" He turns his attention to Kenny, who passes him one without a word.

Cartman doesn't thank him, and, using Kenny's lighter, lights it up and starts smoking it, which is its purpose. Unlike the white crayon I feel ever so sorry for; a cigarette has a purpose, which is...death. Ah well, Kenny'll come back again in the morning. Apparently. He said he was immortal, whatever the hell that is.

I don't believe him.

"...Why are you skipping?" I ask him, but I know I'm not going to get a remotely good answer. This is Cartman I'm dealing with, after all.

"Because school is for weirdos who have nothing else better to do with their lives," he answers me. "I just hate it. Blurgh. It's totally lame."

I nod, not really bothered about talking right now.

I totally forget Kenny is there with us until I watch as he stands up. He takes his bag and puts it on his back.

"Later dudes," he says. "I'm bored now. See ya."

Cartman and I just watch blankly as he disappears back into the building. He left me with..._him. _Ugh.

Even though now there's a lot of room behind this...bush...in the parking lot...which is a blur...he's still close to me, and I must admit, he's warm. Fucking warm.

So warm that I might get hot and I'll spontaneously combust, which isn't good.

"Hey, do you know what's for lunch today?" I ask out of total curiosity. I think its tacos. I hope its tacos. It should be tacos. If it's not, I will stroll into the cafeteria with a rifle, and be all like, OI BITCH, THERE'S NO TACOS. DIE! And I shoot and then everyone dies, because there's no tacos.

"Why you asking me?" he replies.

"Because, knowing you, you would have checked the lunch menu about two hours before the school opens, and decide if you came to school or not because of it," I'm pretty sure it's a winning comment, but I wouldn't know. I don't know nothing, basically.

Cartman just stares at me for a few moments before replying. "Fuck you."

"Oh, I know you want to," I flirtatiously wink and lick my lips. I look so gay. They should rename this bush the gay bush. Or the Bush Where Clyde Donovan Gets Gay With Eric Cartman. Yeah, I might just do that. I'll make a sign, and it'll be a pink sign, because pink kicks a lot of ass. Pink even beats ninjas, and this is highly impossible.

Even Kevin agreed with me on that one.

"Not really," he smiles – or at least, I think he's smiling. Like my dog. I think he smiles at me because I feed him really nice food. Trust me. Sometimes I eat my dog's food because it smells really good. It's alright. The bacon and liver one is pretty good, take my word for it.

I rest my head on his...his mantit. Yes, his man titty. He has _sweet _man titties, let me tell ya that. It's so damn comfortable. I'm so warm right now.

Man, this bush is really living up to its new name, as given by me.

"Clyde...the fuck?" he questions and I'm laughing a little. "Dude, get off my killer muscles."

I look at him in disbelief. "_Muscles? _You've _got _to be kidding me. That's man boobs right there, dude. Trust me."

He doesn't respond.

"What? You gonna kiss me now?" I ask...half-seriously.

"Why, Clyde?" he asks, pronouncing my name in that gay way again. "Do you want me to, you notorious little fag?"

I smile, and yeah, he leans in, and we kiss.

And that is why there is now a sign on the bush claiming this is our gay bush.

X (o) X –

"How do I do this one?"

"You add that...thing...together, with that thing, and then you divide that thing by something..."

"Oh wow, thanks, Cartman. You are a terrific tutor."

He furrows his eyebrows at me, making a V shape, w00t. "Shut up and do some work."

I blink, showing an obvious 'I'm confused' expression. "But, you're my tutor...help me, at least."

Cartman rubs his chin in thought. He reminds me of Santa. I don't know why, he just does. Just a very selfish, uncaring Santa that hates everyone.

He opens a drawer and pulls out a calculator, slamming it on the desk.

"Here, use this...thingy."

I look at it as if I've never seen a calculator before. "It says that I'm not allowed to use one."

"To hell what it says!" he yells, and I think I'm gonna fall off my chair. "It's just a damn book! Do you seriously let books tell you what to do, huh, Clyde? Just use the fucking thing; no one's gonna know, are they? God, Clyde, stop being such a French pussy."

A French pussy? Can't he, like, not tell the difference between a French person and a British person? To be fair, neither can I, but that's because I'm the stupidest kid in class.

Silence.

The only noise is the ticking of the alarm clock on the bedside table, which isn't even near the desk, which is confusing me, and I'm finding it hard to think.

After about fifteen minutes, I've actually learned something. I don't know what, but something's in my head and it's fairly new. Maybe. Not sure.

Hmm...

"I'm done," I announce. He looks up from his phone and barely glances at me.

"Hmm? Oh, you're done?" he mutters. "Go home."

I don't do as he says. Instead, I just sit there, and I feel like a fucking rebel.

I feel badass; so hardcore.

"Hey, Cartman, have you ever liked someone? Like, _like like_?" I suddenly ask, and I grab his attention.

That's a lot of likes in one sentence, I can't help but think.

"Meh," he simply replies. "I dunno, dude. Don't care for that shit. Just wanna rule the world, maybe have Stan and Kyle as my slaves...you know, the usual."

I'm not sure if that's usual, but alrighty then, I'll take his word for it.

"So you've never had pussy in your life?" I suddenly state.

It's funny watching Cartman's face flush. "What? No! I never said that!"

I smirk, laughing a little to myself. "So you haven't?"

"Psh, course I have. I've had, like, loads," he modestly and arrogantly lies. "Chicks dig me, ya know? Always comin' up to me, like, hey Cartman, come fuck me, please? And I'm like, ah no dude, ya know, fucked too many girls last night..."

I don't believe him, and I'm _very _gullible.

"You're not fooling me," I bluntly retort. "And if you can't fool me, then you're hopeless, arentcha?"

He sighs. "K fine, I've had...like two girls. But shh. Girls are stupid anyways."

"I guess," I agree, sighing a little. "I know it sounds...somewhat weird coming from me, but hey, they are pretty useless. Unless you need to fuck 'em, huh?"

Cartman nods, smiling scarcely. "They just talk and talk and talk and moan and bitch and whine. Mine did, anyway."

I know who he's talking 'bout, just by his description. It makes me feel uber smart. I think he dated, like, the biggest bitch in school. Something happened, they broke up, then something else happened, my pet spider died, and then I ate breakfast one morning. It's a very interesting life, basically.

"You fucked her though, right?"

He looks away from me.

"Shut up. You're a virgin?"

No response; the silence answers it all for me.

Kinda expecting it. No one would wanna fuck him.

"Shh, Clyde," he simply whispers, his fingers pressed against his lips. "I just...I tried, ya know, but she wouldn't let me. And the other one wouldn't either. Can't remember her name now, but...ugh. Basically, I get no pussy."

I snicker. "Figures."

He flips me off, resembling Craig and I just laugh some more. It's so funny laughing at _his _misery. It makes you feel beast, believe me.

"Bet you get more cock than you do pussy," I tease.

And he doesn't reply.

And that fucking loud, deafening silence is the answer.

**A/N: Is that a cliff-hanger? I dunno. It's late, I'm tired. Has anyone noticed how we fangirls are all insomniacs? I'm an insomniac, sadly :'( Sorry, I rushed the ending. I just wanna get to bed. At this rate, the last chapter is the next one. Ah, my first fanfic I ever finished :') I'mma miss writing it. Thanks to all the reviews, by the way. They make me soooo happy. Sorry if it was OOC, sorry if I made typos, sorry if I spelled things wrong, sorry if the grammar is like blurgh, sorry if it's too confusing. The mind of Clyde Donovan will be confusing albeit mind blowing, ya know. And, if you didn't know, by 'the biggest bitch in school', I do mean Wendy. I'm so in love with Candy right now. I need to mention in it practically every story. Gurgh, I need some sleep. The unhealthy obsession I have with Candy right now is really taking its toll on me.**

**See you next time. Sorry for the long A/Ns, you probably don't read them anyway.**


	11. This Is How It Goes Down

**A/N: Nothing to say, other than the fact that this is the last chapter. Sad face.**

_Chapter Eleven – This Is How It Goes Down_

I'm so confused – so, Cartman gets a low amount of pussy, but attracts cock, even though he's not sure if he likes it? It's hurting my head, all of it.

A few weeks have passed; nothing remotely interesting has happened, so I didn't bother writing anything down. All I can say is that Craig and I (without the assistance of Cartman) successfully made an erupting volcano for our science project.

It took us a while, due to procrastination and pure not botheredness, but we completed it in the end. It turned out pretty good, and it worked well, too. Even though Craig went through how it erupted, I still didn't get it, and wondered if it was all a conspiracy, which it probably was.

Fucking baking soda and vinegar.

Our teacher was pretty impressed too.

"Well, boys, it wasn't an all too original idea, but still, you made a good effort," our teacher had said, and then she turned to me. "And Clyde, you're making good progress. Hmm...B minus. I'm being modest here, so don't argue with it."

We didn't – B minus is probably the best grade I've had in five years. And I base this on absolutely nothing.

X (o) X –

"Right, class, I hope you are all aware that next week is indeed exams week. All exams you take make a full contribution to your final grade."

I'm barely listening as Mrs. Roberts drones on about some dumb test. I'm gonna do badly on it, anyway. Nothing can beat last year's score of an E.

"For your homework tonight I would like you to revise for the tests. Being a Math's teacher, I do wish you'd revise for the Maths one," she continues. "Oh, and to the people I've assigned tutors to" - she's talking about me – "your tutoring sessions will come to an end after the exams week. If told otherwise, they'll continue."

I hope she means my tutoring sessions. I want to get a lot of things out of the way before continuing my life. I want to be an explorer, cuz that'd be cool, and I'd meet Dora, and we'd travel around singing gay songs with a gay little monkey and then some stuff will happen and then I'll grow old and retire and die.

She writes some stuff down on the board whilst I totally zone out, ignoring everything she says, and the most inevitable thing happens – I fall asleep.

She doesn't notice.

X (o) X –

I'm actually revising for once.

This time, grades are important to me. I must sound like a nerd, but these grades really mean something this time.

And I want to make it seem like Cartman's been tutoring me. If he tutored me as well as he kissed me, I'd have an A******. Then that'd be the new and improved Clyde Donovan grade, not that lame Z, which has no purpose.

Very much like the white crayon. The only thing 'Z' is useful for is for zebras. I really like zebras. And zoos. They're cool.

I'm getting into the revising thingy when my phone suddenly vibrates next to me.

For some reason, I always leave my phone on silent. It's probably because Craig once set my ringtone to 'Clyyyde, pick up the phone you piece of shit, da la la la' and then he did some screamo, which he's actually very good at. I never got around to changing it so I just put it on silent.

And vibrate, because I'm actually very smart when I need to be.

Without looking at the number, I pick it up. "Go away I'm studying."

"...Why are you studying, Clyde?"

Ah shit, it's Cartman. Should've known. "Because, if you didn't know, we have exams next week, and I want a good grade."

"You're not gonna get a good grade, Clyde, stop lying to yourself."

"I know, and it's thanks to you," I solemnly say, and there's silence down the other end.

Score one for me. I am so drab.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Cartman says finally after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"That doesn't even make sense," I laugh, flipping the pages to get to something interesting. Algebra's very interesting. 2b + 3b is easy. 89k + x (7 + 4b) is not.

"Yes, it does, Clyde," he answers, seriously believing he's right. "You're just not as smart as me to figure that out yet. You will someday, Clyde."

I scowl a little. He's such a dumbass sometimes, truly believing he's the one who's right, and I'm wrong. I probably am, and I'm too busy reading about algebra and finding said X to argue with him.

"Shh, Cartman, as I said, I'm revising," I inform him again.

"Yeah, and hippies _aren't _planning to blow up the earth with all of their gay, totally pointless campaigns," he remarks sarcastically. I have absolutely no idea what the hell he's on about, but I roll with it.

"They probably are," I say without thinking – which isn't one of my good points. I'm too engrossed in this fricking book. Wow, algebra is so cool...super cool...

"Mhmm," he agrees. "You're right, Clyde, they probably are. Stop _revising_. Get your ass round my house now or I may have to kill you when I next see you."

"But I'm revising..." I whine, as if I haven't told him about thirty two million times that I'm revising. He's so silly.

"I don't give two shits what you're doing!" he pretty much yells at me. It's hurting my ears, owie, owie. "Just get over here and, you know, play some video games with me. Clyde? Clyde, you listening to me? Ay!"

I've hung up on him.

X (o) X –

"Thanks for hanging up on me last night, you black asshole."

I turn from my locker to see Cartman standing there sternly, his arms folded across his chest, pouting slightly.

"I told you, I was revising," I say. The word 'revising' is such a drag to say now (or more than ever), and it doesn't even seem like a real word anymore. I hate it when that happens, honestly.

He scoffs. "I bet you were, Clyde."

"Honestly, I was," I argue. "And could you not call me a black asshole? K thanks, bye." I slam my locker shut and stand in front of him, returning the pout.

We look like twins. It's kinda uncanny. Except he's way larger than me, and a little bit taller.

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I wanna call you," he hisses, but this time, it's not meant in a malevolent way, surprisingly enough. "You're my slave now."

...

That's the only thing that can describe my expression right now.

"Since when was I your slave, Cartman?" I ask, an eyebrow raised, so confused its killing me. Not literally, but I might explode.

I might.

"Since I bought you from Craig for a cheap fee," he rubbed his hands together, an evil smirk on his face. "He's such a Jew sometimes. I asked if he owned you, and he said yeah he did, so I bought him off of you."

Fuck, that's true.

This one time, Craig and I got super high (not just high, _super high_ – there is a difference, honestly) and he bought me for twenty dollars. He forgot about it after that, as did I, but obviously when Cartman asked him about it, it suddenly jogged his memory.

"For how much?" I ask curiously, not sure if I wanna know or not.

"How much do you _think _you're worth?" he inquires, and I shrug slightly.

"I dunno...my mom said I'm priceless," I mutter, just loud enough so he can hear.

He smiles at me. Or at least, I think he does. "Exactly. He gave you up for two dollars. You were pretty much a bargain. Or on sale."

I scowl. Friends don't sell other friends for two dollars. That's it; Craig owes me sevent-sixt-fift-fourt-EIGHTEEN. EIGHTEEN DOLLARS. Took me a while to work that out, but I did it.

"Sonovabitch," I curse to no one, not even Cartman, even though he's standing right there, and it's pretty obvious that he heard me.

"So, basically, you're mine now," he smirks. I can only wonder what's running through his mind right now, but I can't say them. "Now, what should we do first?"

I shrug, not really caring. However, all the while I'm wondering what he's planning. I seriously think I just threw up in my mouth.

"What do _you_ want to do?"

My curiosity gets the best of me sometimes.

"Something cheap," he shrugs. "Something fun."

Cartman rubs his chin again, deep in thought, looking like an evil scientist. Or a rapist. Again. He's too fat to be a rapist.

Once again I have no idea what the fuck I'm on about.

I can practically see the light bulb shining above his head as his eyes light up. "I know! We could skip school again, cuz that was kewl."

I shake my head. "No, Cartman, I don't want to today..."

"What's the matter? You chicken?" he asks, imitating a chicken. I laugh a little – he looks so ridiculous it's unbelievable.

I roll my eyes. Anything to stop him from doing _that_. "Fine, we'll skip. Where we gonna go, though? Hopefully not behind our gay bush..."

He chuckles. "No, Clyde, I've got a better place."

I raise an eyebrow yet again, still curious and now a little bemused. "Oh, and where might that be, Cartman?"

Another evil smirk. "How 'bout my bedroom? That's fun, and free."

I have a bad feeling, but I gesture for him to continue.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, Clyde?"

I look away from him, blushing slightly, and knowing me, I give that all too predictable answer.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!"

He smirks again.

X (o) X –

"And then, I was like, no way! And then he said..."

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see who it is and, to my surprise, it's Mrs. Roberts.

"Clyde, may I speak to you, _privately?_" she asks sweetly, emphasising the 'privately' part. Before I know it, I'm dragged away from Token and Jimmy, who I was having a very interesting conversation with about this one time where I was like, no way, and then this dude said, yah way, and I was like, no way shut up!

Then some stuff happened, my pet spider died, and I ate breakfast one morning.

Mrs. Roberts smiles at me as soon as we enter her classroom.

"You did pretty well on the test," she tells me, and I can't help but smile at her too.

At the same time, I'm in disbelief.

"I did?" I ask, and she nods.

"Maybe not the best in the class, but you still did well," she adds. "I'm guessing the tutoring really paid off. Looks like someone won't be needing it anymore; keep this up and you'll soon be at the top of the class! Who knows, maybe _you'll _be the tutor?"

I highly doubt that, but still, I applaud her enthusiasm and wild theories.

"Yeah," I pine. "I guess I just had a good tutor."

She smiles, and I smile, too. Her smile is pretty contagious.

"His scores were OK," she continues. "But you were better."

I didn't want to tell her that Cartman had cheated in the first place, but she was smart enough to have figured that out by herself.

"Well, are you going to miss being tutored?" she asks, even though she knows what I'd say.

So I go for the less obvious answer. "Not really."

And I leave, a huge smile on my face, because that tutoring made me realize that maybe Cartman _isn't _such a bad guy after all.

And maybe a relationship with him _could _work.

Hi, I'm Clyde Donovan, I'm probably gay/bi curious, and I love my boyfriend, Eric Cartman.

Oh, and...The End.

**A/N: :O OMG. It's over. Dun dun dun. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, read or put on alert/favourites. Wow, can't believe it's complete :/ And I updated it quickly so you didn't have to suffer! Aren't I just the best? :) I'm contemplating another full length story, and maybe a short sequal because I just loved writing this (and writing in Clyde's POV). Well, that's all, folks!**


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